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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25547920">The Battle Under the Trees</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziggy/pseuds/ziggy'>ziggy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works &amp; Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, Tolkien (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:35:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,318</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25547920</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziggy/pseuds/ziggy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On the day of the New Year, it is told that Thranduil and Celeborn met in the forest where they rename Mirkwood as Eryn Lasgalen, The Wood of the Greenleaves. Thranduil gave the southern part of his realm to Celeborn, and kept the northern part as far as the mountains for himself and his people. The woodlands in between were given to the Beornings and Woodmen. But they must have had a lot more to talk about than that.</p><p>This is Thranduil's tale of the War of the Ring. Whilst he fights Sauron's army in his own lands, he is haunted by dreams of his sons; his youngest in far away Gondor, and his eldest, Laersul, in the west to hold agains the goblins of the Hithaeglir and Thranduil himself leads the vanguard of the battle. His middle child, Thalos, he has left to guard the stronghold. In case all fails.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elrohir/Legolas Greenleaf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 10th March</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Unbeta’d as my fab beta is focusing on Seven Stars and Seven Stones.<br/>
This is part of the unfinished business I still have from the Sons of Thunder series</p>
<p>The Battle Under the Trees</p>
<p>Thranduil's sons<br/>
Laersul- oldest, commander of the King's army<br/>
Thalos- middle son. (also called Dragonsinger- see Black Arrow for why)<br/>
Legolas- youngest of course.</p>
<p>Azgarâzir- Name given to Thranduil by the Nazgul. The Nazgul's name for Thranduil, whom they hate more than any other ruler for his defence and war against them in Dol Guldur. Although it was the White Council that overthrew Sauron as the Necromancer at the end of The Hobbit, Thranduil it was who continuously fought them. Literally "wage war" cf. azaggara</p>
<p>Agannâlo – Nazgul's name for Mirkwood. Literally death-shadow.</p>
<p>Canon timeline:<br/>
March 10-Various hordes sallied forth. Attack upon Lothlorien from Dol Guldûr.<br/>
March 12- Ents join Lothlorien’s forces from Fangorn as Orthanc has already fallen.<br/>
March 15- Second attack on Lothlorien. Simultaneous attacks upon Mirkwood,  and Erebor and Dale attacked by Easterlings from Rhun. Erebor battled for three days and Brand fell. All retreated into Erebor. </p>
<p>22nd March- Third attack on Lothlorien.<br/>
25th March- Sauron fell- Celeborn and Thranduil meet at Dol Guldûr and Galadriel threw down the tower.</p>
<p>Summary<br/>
Whilst Aragorn led the Host of the Dead from the Stone of Erech to the Pelennor Fields with Legolas and Gimli at his side, Thranduil and his folk were fighting a terrible battle under the trees.   As Thranduil fights, his two older sons fight alongside him but Thranduil is haunted by dreams of his sweetest child and the perils he faces in Gondor.</p>
<p>Note: lapwings often pretend to be injured to lure predators away from their next.</p>
<p>0o0o</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Chapter 1: 10th March</p>
<p>It had begun with a distant tremor in the Earth. Then the breathless messengers arrived from the East Bight.</p>
<p>‘…smoke in the South,’ they panted, weariness and fear on their faces. ‘On the plains of Rhovanion…’ </p>
<p>More messengers came. ‘It is not smoke but dust, lord. From legions of iron-shod feet marching, spilling out of Dol Guldûr like plague. Warg-riders fly over the wilderness, hunting.’ </p>
<p>In the council of the Woodelves’ King, Laethron, oldest, unbegotten, the Singer and Dreamer, said ‘They are the vanguard and Sauron’s legions follow in their wake. They bring fire and steel.’</p>
<p>It had begun.</p>
<p>0o0o</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thranduil leaned over the maps he knew by heart, scored and lined with years of planning, waiting for this final assault.</p>
<p>Galion looked at his King with concern. He looked weary, a shadow behind his slate-green eyes that was not the oncoming war, but worry for his youngest. </p>
<p>When they had received the brief letters from Legolas, and others from Elrond and Mithrandir that had Thranduil shaking with fury and fear in equal measure: Legolas had told them that he travelled on a secret quest in the company of the Man, Aragorn amongst others.  Legolas had written, as if in surprise, that Aragorn was Isildur’s Heir. What surprised Galion was that Legolas even knew who Isildur was. He would certainly not understand the implication of travelling with Aragorn. He would have no idea how the Enemy would hunt Isildur’s Heir, would seek him out. </p>
<p>At least, he told himself in the quiet of his own rooms, the others of this strange company included Mithrandir, and Galion speculated that it would take some doing to get rid of the Wizard so he trusted that Legolas would be safe, at least until they had crossed the Hithaeglir when Legolas was free to return him.</p>
<p>Galion could not imagine why in all of Arda, Elrond had chosen to send four Hobbits but Bilbo Baggins had proved to be an exceptional individual, and although he had had that magic ring, he had also been very brave and resourceful. But Galion was most bothered by the dwarf, for he was the son of one of those dwarves who had interrupted the Feast of Starlight and who had brought ruin upon Esgaroth and War upon Dale, the Lake, and the Wood. It was not easily forgotten that many a Woodelf had perished in defence of Erebor and though Dain had proved gracious in his gratitude to the Elves, there would always be some distance between the Wood and the Mountain.</p>
<p>Galion drank Dorwinion. Steadily. One goblet after another until he no longer saw the brutalised and mutilated face of Anglach, that in his dreams, became the face of Legolas and then Anglach, so there was only one face, screaming. His pillow was wet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>0o0o</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thalos scanned the faces of the gathered lords of the Wood. They shared the same serious expression for all knew War, had fought in the Last Alliance, in the wars against the dragons of the North. Some had fought in Beleriand.  </p>
<p>Though Thranduil stared down at the map of the Wood, his gaze ever drifted to the edge of the map, where Rohan was scrawled in tiny letters like it was unimportant, and an arrow pointed toward Gondor.</p>
<p>Thranduil breathed in deeply and then turned sharply towards Thalos now.</p>
<p>‘Thalos, you will stay here to protect the Wood from the fires they will light. Dispatch troops to guard the leats and waterways, the dykes we have dug to brake any fires. Use everyone. When they press close, fall back to the stronghold and hold it with all you have. Until, if you must, escape.’</p>
<p>‘We have expected it,’ Thalos agreed and he looked at the King, his father, with concern. ‘All is ready. But…’</p>
<p>Thranduil did not let him ask the question on his lips. Instead he turned to his trusty captains and gave a steely smile. ‘We have indeed waited for this. At last it comes. Let us not waste all our planning. The Enemy does not know how strong we are.’ His slate-green eyes gleamed in the firelight. </p>
<p>‘And where…’ Thalos began again but Thranduil would not let him speak. Thalos knew that his father was well aware of his concern and merely sought to ignore it. The idea that the King would lead the charge and leave Thalos to defend the stronghold, was unthinkable. It was not for glory that Thalos protested, but for love of his King and father.</p>
<p>He clasped Thalos’ shoulder and caught him in his heavy gaze, weighted with the years and years of battle, of fighting the Shadow. ‘We have played the lapwing’s game,’ he said.  ‘Sauron, and the lackey he has left in the tower of Dol Guldûr, think us weak, depleted.’ Thranduil turned his head to capture all his council in the sharp, fierce gaze. ‘He will find out that he is quite mistaken.’</p>
<p>He turned back to Thalos and looked deeply into his eyes. Trust me. The silent message pierced Thalos. He looked away. Thranduil had every intention of riding in the vanguard and nothing Thalos could say would gainsay his father. He knew enough by now.</p>
<p>As if he read Thalos’ acquiescence, Thranduil nodded once. ‘Laersul. It has been your strategy that has given the Shadow confidence.’ He smiled fiercely. ‘Is everything in place?’</p>
<p>‘Yes lord.’ Laersul stood beside his father, tall, strong. Like a young oak. He filled everyone with confidence. ‘We have been falling back, retreating as if we were beaten for the last six months. We have let our victories seem hard-won and snatched from disaster. As if we have been merely lucky.’ His look was steady and reassuring. ‘The Orcs have become emboldened, careless. They think that they have driven us back beyond the Bight. In truth, we have hidden our battalions and are deeply entrenched in the South, and the East Bight, in the flanks of the Wood ready to hold the line against the hordes that we think will descend from the Hithaeglir. Perhaps. Our strategy is to lure the Orcish army in, strike at their heart, drive a wedge between their forces. Defeat them.’</p>
<p>Thranduil looked up at his councilors. </p>
<p>Gilvaren, his oldest friend, most trusted, looked concerned.  ‘It is not a perfect plan,’ he said softly. ‘Battle plans never are. We are depending too much on the stupidity of the enemy.’</p>
<p>‘That is true,’ Laersul admitted. He tilted his head on one side and looked down at the map. ‘But Orcs are very stupid and many a plan has succeeded because of it.’ He flashed a grin at Gilvaren. ’As you know yourself, lord.’</p>
<p>Thranduil laughed softly and when others glanced brightly at each other, Gilvaren conceded for it was he who had taught Laersul so well. Indeed, he had led the same strategy in the wars against Gundabad when the orcs had turned their attention to the Woodelves.</p>
<p>‘Will Lothlorien come to our aid?’ Laegrist asked, oldest of the Silvans, noblest and bravest for it was he who had fought his way to Oropher’s side during Dagorlad, the ill-fated Last Alliance, and brought back the bloodied body of the King. </p>
<p>Laersul shook his head. ‘Orcs are on their way there. We have sent messages though I doubt they were needed.’</p>
<p>‘Have we had word from Erebor?’ Erédis, the healer, turned to Galadhon who had been set to watch upon the Eastern flank of the Wood and to look towards the Lake and Mountain. ‘Dain swore to aid us in our need as we did to him.’ Her grey eyes glittered in the rushlight, uncompromising. ‘Surely they are not forsworn?’</p>
<p>‘This came, lord.’ Galadhon held out a scroll, its seal broken for he was amongst Thranduil’s most trusted officers now. ‘The Dwarves will not come.’</p>
<p>There was a silence, Erédis snorted in contempt but Laersul spoke.</p>
<p>‘In truth, lord, they cannot, ‘he said. He had been the emissary to broker the treaty with Erebor and the Dwarves had a respect for him, if not liking, for he appreciated their culture and was fascinated by the grandeur of their art.  ‘When the Nazgul offered them a Dwarvish Ring and they refused, as you know, it was made clear that the first assault would be upon the Mountain, even before us. The Dwarves had hoped that we could come to their aid but they see now this cannot be. Laketown and Dale will be in the front line of that assault.’</p>
<p>The immensity of War silenced the gathered lords. </p>
<p>‘The army we thought was headed across Rhovanion to here is destined for Erebor.’ Thalos jabbed a finger down onto the map, and traced a path from the South towards Erebor.’</p>
<p>Thranduil shook his head slightly. ‘We have sent a message to warn them?’</p>
<p>‘They know. They are ready.</p>
<p>He nodded, satisfied. ‘Then we have no more to do than give the order to march.’ He cast a quick look towards his two remaining sons. ‘Let us make sure we draw the Enemy’s Eye to us,’ he said obliquely, but though Thalos tried to catch his gaze, Thranduil seemed to slide over him. </p>
<p>0o0o</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Later, when he was alone, Thranduil stared at another map. This one showed the southern lands of Rohan and Gondor: a heavy book, the Histories of Elu Thingol, weighted down a corner and a wine stain circled the mark that was Orthanc. But he did not see any of it. In his mind’s eye a child held up a small carved pony and his green eyes shone with delight for Thranduil had made it for him. His heart squeezed with love for his youngest, his sweetest child who, guileless and alone  with only hobbits, Men and Dwarves for company, was walking quietly, stealthily, he thought, into Mordor itself for he knew Legolas would not turn away and return. Not once his help had been sought. Legolas never could; his heart was so easily given, and it sounded that he had pledged himself to the Heir of Isildur. </p>
<p>Inwardly he cursed Mithrandir. Anglach had already paid the price of Thranduil granting the Wizard’s request.</p>
<p>But he could not bear that thought and turned away.</p>
<p>When Thalos knocked upon his door and entered, Thranduil had a glass in his hand and deep red wine stained his lips.</p>
<p>‘Father,’ Thalos said.</p>
<p>So, thought Thranduil, it was to be an appeal to him as a father, not the King. ‘Son,’ he replied wryly and saw that Thalos, subtle and clever, had recognised how it was to be.</p>
<p>‘Do not do this.’</p>
<p>‘What?’</p>
<p>‘Do not lead the vanguard. Let Laersul do it. Or me.’</p>
<p>‘Do you think I cannot ?’ Thranduil asked almost lazily, wryly amused.</p>
<p>‘No, I did not say that… but it is long since you fought in battle.’</p>
<p>‘Oh? So you do say that.’ Thranduil turned towards his middle son, lifted an eyebrow. He had no intention of changing his mind, nor did he doubt himself so he was not angry that his child questioned him. It was the same fear that made him keep Thalos back in the stronghold; he needed one son safe.</p>
<p>‘No…I …’ Thalos looked away, uncharacteristically hesitant. ‘Perhaps I do. Please, listen to me.’</p>
<p>Thranduil put his wine goblet down carefully, over the city of Minas Tirith like he might block it out, obliterate it before his youngest even reached it and had to test his mettle in full blown war.</p>
<p>‘I was fighting wars before I had even met your mother, Thalos,’ Thranduil said gently for Thalos’ words were ignorant and borne out of love and concern. ‘I fought in the War of Wrath and before that I fought endlessly the Black Foe who crept onto our borders in Doriath. I fought in the Kinslaying of Doriath against the Fëanorians, curse their name. I fought the Dragons of the North. Do not tell me…’</p>
<p>But Thalos had quickly stepped forward and reached out to Thranduil. His hand was upon his father’s shoulder before he could finish his litany and Thranduil looked at him.</p>
<p>‘I do not doubt your valour, or your might, father. But if you should  fall…’</p>
<p>Thranduil did not smile but his heart wrenched. They might all fall. But he could not say that. Here he was King as well as father.</p>
<p>‘I will not.’</p>
<p>And then Thalos said, ‘So spake Oropher when you bid him the same.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>0o0o</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thranduil thought he would not sleep, but it came quickly and was fitful and full of dreams….</p>
<p>In his dream, he saw Legolas, and his heart leapt with joy for he was alive. A fiery little horse cantered along a mountain track, tossing its head and wanting to run but Legolas held it back. He rode slightly off balance, Thranduil noted distantly, as if he were missing something.  Low clouds were grey and roiled over the horizon, the black silhouette of pine trees on the ridge above him and the peaks of the mountains.</p>
<p>Why was he on his own? Had the Man, Aragorn been killed? Where was Mithrandir? </p>
<p>Thranduil felt an unreasonable fury churning in his belly: Legolas had been abandoned! Left alone in a far and distant land with none to protect him! </p>
<p>Reason asserted itself then; his son was a warrior of renown, the best archer in the Wood. He was used to this. Thranduil realised that Legolas must be scouting, for he did not look anxious. But there were shadows beneath his eyes and his skin looked stretched tight. There was a feverish excitement in his eyes.</p>
<p>Now Legolas was urging the horse faster along the open paths once more; flocks of birds circled high in the sky over the plains. Crows, buzzards. Carrion. So here was War. Distant smoke rose up far away and he recognised that this must be Gondor. And they had run out of time, even as he had in the Wood. The Enemy smote at all of them. </p>
<p>Now Legolas turned the horse down from the high ridge towards a road, no more than a track but still the riding was easier and faster. Hoofs pounded the dry earth and the wind caught Legolas' hair, streaming it behind him.</p>
<p>At last he slowed, and seemed to wait. The weak sun, dimmed by thick cloud, was high. Midday, thought Thranduil somewhere. But then he saw something flickering in the dust of the road. A strange mist almost was coming towards Legolas, but Thranduil perceived it was no ordinary mist- there were shapes in it. Ghostly horses, riders, banners that waved in a long forgotten wind.. He tried to cry  out, tried to run, to warn Legolas. </p>
<p>No! No! cried Thranduil. But Legolas could not hear him and had turned to face them.</p>
<p>From the trees emerged a company of Men and horses. Thin and trembling ghosts glimmered in the shadow of the mountains as the first horses appeared through the trees. An army of Dead Men and at last, Thranduil understood. </p>
<p>It was the Oathbreakers. </p>
<p>He remembered Isildur, head flung back and screaming a curse upon the Men of the Dwimorberg. </p>
<p>Only Isildur’s Heir might free them.</p>
<p>Thranduil could almost see Oropher striding out, buckling on his heavy sword and the round shield that now hung in his own halls, forest green pennants streaming, snapping in the wind… Elendil standing tall with Gil-Galad, shining and valiant… These dishonoured Men had seen them all, had witnessed the last battle. And despaired. </p>
<p>He knew that Legolas listened to their songs; there were so many souls beneath that one song they shared. He saw how they leaned towards his son as he listened, for it soothed them and Legolas had never easily ignored any one in misery, and their pleas were insistent whisperings….</p>
<p>Long have I lain in the grave of my own making, long unheard…<br/>
…Not felt the brush of the wind, the whisper of tall grass...</p>
<p>Aye, naught but silent graves, empty bones forlorn<br/>
…so long dead; so lonely...</p>
<p>We have forgotten the beat of blood in our veins,<br/>
the pulse of flesh…</p>
<p>Only the creak of old bones, crumbling into dust, decay….</p>
<p>We have lived in darkness, in utter silence, stillness.</p>
<p>Forgotten the throb of blood, the feel of flesh, the snap of sinew, hunger and thirst….</p>
<p>Steel rusts, crumbles, light fades, darkness only…</p>
<p>…I have needed to feel the wind rushing past me, to hear the drumming of horses galloping and the ring of steel and stirrup, to see the high cloud and huge empty skies…</p>
<p>There was movement in the grey shroud that surrounded them a whisper of anticipation, of yearning. They longed to be free.</p>
<p>The Man, Aragorn. Thranduil had recognised him of course, the moment the bedraggled and weary Ranger had entered the throne room, his pitiable monstrous charge squalling and straining at his leash.</p>
<p>Now in his dream, Thranduil saw that Aragorn rode at the head of the company. He looked tired and drawn with the weight of expectation heavy upon him. Thranduil understood that weight. A King had to lead, could never tire, never doubt, never falter. And for Aragorn, there was so much expectation. The King Returned.  For a moment it seemed to Thranduil that all the Heirs of Isildur rode behind.</p>
<p>Aragorn did not pause but turned, standing in his stirrups, and shouted over his shoulder at the following company, 'We ride! Our time is come, Dúnedain, Guardians of the North, inheritors of Gondor! Minas Tirith is assailed. We go to War!’</p>
<p>A strange sound, like the wind sighing over the mountains surrounded them and grew and as the Rangers surged forwards to answer their Lord's command, the Shadow Host seemed to grow stronger and more substantial. They surged around the Grey Company and would have overtaken them had not Aragorn held them back. He rode at their head, tall, stern of face, lordly and with immense will he kept them onwards.</p>
<p>Thranduil stood watching as the ghostly army galloped past and through him for he was but a ghost himself in the far South. He cried aloud as his sweetest child charged past, his face alight with excitement and battle fever… a Dwarf clung to him like a bur. And lightly across the edge of the Song, lay another, like a skein of silk, a deeper, endless note that breathed and soughed, and whispered of home…</p>
<p>The Sea.</p>
<p>Thranduil had never seen it. But he remembered that sound, the deep breaths, the sough and sigh of the Sea. ‘Do not go there,’ he murmured. ‘No. Do not go there for your heart will never rest under the trees again.’ With bitterness, he knew that Legolas would not turn back.</p>
<p>A great banner unfurled and fluttered; there was the White Tree of Isildur crowned with seven stars. Ah, thought Thranduil. So this was Mithrandir’s purpose all along. Here was Isildur's Heir, the last of the race of Numenor, noblest and proudest of Men. Elessar.</p>
<p>Thranduil lifted his hand in acknowledgment, one King to another but he could not be seen. And then he saw that someone approached Aragorn; at first he thought it was Elrond, but no. Not as bowed by care and worn by his past. This must be one of the Sons of Thunder. He approached Aragorn swiftly, his cloak was black, sable fur and it swirled about him in the unearthly light. He held out the silver horn which Aragorn Elessar lifted it to his lips and blew. The sound was unearthly – growing slowly in strength and volume. It was the sound of Oromë's horn. The ghostly pennants that had hung still and lifeless now fluttered a little and then one ray of light broke through the massing cloud, and seemed to glint off the forest of spears.</p>
<p>For a moment there was absolute stillness, and then a long sound like a sigh. The wind shimmered and trembled across the darkened grass. Then that moment of utter stillness was broken by a sound like waves breaking as the Dúnedain and his Shadow Host charged down the slopes of Lamedon and down to Linhir.</p>
<p>A keenness in the wind that fluttered in his breast. He saw Legolas glance around him, and suddenly knew. </p>
<p>‘Legolas!’ he cried. ‘No! No! DO not go there!’</p>
<p>Legolas turned his head and looked straight at Thranduil. He reached for his child. ‘No! You must not go to the Sea!’</p>
<p>But it was too late and Legolas had plunged into the affray…..</p>
<p> </p>
<p>0o0o</p>
<p>tbc</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Battle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Unbeta'd so all my own mistakes.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Non canon characters:<br/>Laersul- oldest son<br/>Thalos- middle son<br/>Anglach- Thranduil’s foster son, who was amongst those ‘taken or slain’ in Gollum’s escape. He was killed cruelly.</p>
<p>Azgarâzir: Name given to Thranduil by the Nazgul. The Nazgul's name for Thranduil, whom they hate more than any other ruler for his defence and war against them in Dol Guldur. Equivalent to Warmonger, Death-dealer, Scourge.<br/>Agannâlo – Nazgul's name for Mirkwood. Literally death-shadow.<br/>Zigserat- names for Laersul. Sorcerer of Death<br/>Thrakagâsh- and Thalos. Fire-bringer.<br/>(Legolas is just Azgarâzir’s whelp.)</p>
<p>Durb-hai - lord of our people<br/>Búbhosh-dug - Great Filth (their name for the Woodelves)</p>
<p>Búrzbag- An Orc general from Dol Guldur.<br/>Zharg and Krimpsnag- his faithful captains<br/>Grishnak- an Orc captain from Mordor<br/>Gob- a minion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Chapter 2:  BATTLE. </p>
<p>15th March. Thranduil attacked.</p>
<p>Thranduil was ready. He had been ready for years now. Brakes had been dug over centuries, a criss-cross of dykes and leats spreading outwards from the stronghold every quarter mile, wide enough that any fires could not leap the brakes. The leats were built with culverts and sluices so that at a word, the Forest River could be diverted, and would plunge and swirl and foam into those leats and dykes.</p>
<p>He sent Laersul to the Carrock to defend against the Goblins of the Misty Mountains and told Thalos to protect the stronghold and release the River in their defence. He tried not to think of the danger his sons faced, tried not to think of the serious child Laersul had been, the curious Thalos- sword-sharp wit, and his sweetest youngest creeping silently into Mordor under the Eye’s vicious gaze.</p>
<p>But he did think of Anglach, his curious, silly fosterling with his unshakable faith in Thranduil, the faith that was so misplaced. Thranduil berated himself, mentally flagellated himself for his own failure to keep Anglach safe.</p>
<p>He stood before the long mirror in his dressing room. ‘I will revenge you,’ Thranduil swore to Anglach’s drifting soul, with a fury that was still and deadly.</p>
<p>He fastened the thick leather that was all the armour the Woodelves needed. The Noldor blamed this for the massacre in the Last Alliance but they were fools; the Woodelves were light, fast, swift. Archers. When Thranduil had led his depleted army back to the Wood, none had blamed Oropher. None in the Wood had blamed the leather armour. They had blamed Gil-Galad.</p>
<p>And rightly so, thought Thranduil bitterly. The confused orders, with words that meant different things in Silvan, the lack of care. He blamed Gil-Galad, his Herald, Elrond, his General, Glorfindel.</p>
<p>He paused briefly at the thought of Glorfindel. Met his own slate-green eyes in the Glass. An image flashed through his memory of that strong muscular body, yielding surprisingly quickly, and as hungry as he. But Thranduil shoved the memory of that body away as angrily as he had taken it, and pulled his leather cuirass over the padded shirt instead, and laced the curved graceful front and back together under his arm. The front plates were riveted in copper, and the bronze buckles gleamed softly in the rushlight. He wanted them covered in blood, and his sword, the white blade, frost-bright Gystalya, gift of Dain in return for Orcrist, to drip with the blood of his enemies. For Thranduil was to lead the Woodelves south, to Dol Guldûr itself. Thranduil intended to attack the ruined fortress and bring the battle to ‘that old wight, Khamûl’.</p>
<p>He wanted Khamûl. </p>
<p>He wanted to be the one to strike with his shining frost-bright sword, to strike through that old iron armour and to shatter it, send it spinning back through time so it was but dust.</p>
<p>Knowing that Galion would want to check and fuss, he lifted his leaf-shaped, etched pauldrons over his shoulders and laced them up, all supple, thick leather, enough to glance a blow, to protect him from the clumsy Orcs. Not enough to turn a well placed arrow, or a silk-sharp sword. But the Woodelves depended on their lightness and supple agility between and in the trees. No heavy plate would protect him in the South of the Wood. And there was no armour could protect any of them from the Nazgul. Nothing would protect them there.</p>
<p>‘Nothing but sheer Woodelf bloody-mindedness,’ as Galion had said with a scary grin. </p>
<p>Thranduil smiled thinly as he pulled on his hip belt and laced that up, then pulled on the leaf-shaped tassets and buckled those to the hip belt.  Finally, he pulled on his gauntlets, cinched his swordbelt and slung his bow over his shoulder. He was clad in green and brown, thick supple leather stamped with his sigil and etched with the leaves of the Wood they were to protect.  As he had been in the Last Alliance.</p>
<p>0o0o</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The scouts watched the Orc legions marching along the edge of the Wood, for the Orcs could not move quickly through the forest itself but on open ground, fifty miles a day was not unheard of. Wargs were swifter. But they would have to enter the Wood at some point, and Thranduil guessed that they intended to march towards the Long Lake and then cut through the forest to attack the stronghold. </p>
<p>It did not suit Thranduil at all to meet the Orcs out in the open. He wanted to draw them into the Woods where archers could wait silently in the trees, where the Elves light armour was an advantage, where the trees would give them cover and the heavy Orcs in their heavy armour could not move. They would have the advantage, briefly at least. Archers could kill as many Orcs as there were arrows. Then it would be hand to hand fighting.</p>
<p>‘This will give us an advantage,’ Thranduil told his Elves quietly, ‘but only for a moment. We must make the most of it.’ There was a wooded hill just north of the Bight that Laersul had fortified over the years but it was hidden by he dense trees and Dol Guldur had never discovered it. Thranduil set his lure, a smaller camp a few miles from the hill fort, and planted his own standard to declare that he was there. Concentric cordons of archers waited silently in the trees. Thranduil then withdrew the bulk of his army to the fortress.</p>
<p>0o0o</p>
<p>The legions of Dol Guldur marched past the East Bight and the land groaned under their iron-shod feet, the animals fled, so there was no food for the Orcs but each other. But there were so many of them it did not matter than much, though Orc-meat is tough and stringy. Búrzbag riding upon his Warg-Queen did not care if his army ate Goblin, Orc, Man or Elf as long as they marched. And he liked his warg packs hungry, it kept them mean.</p>
<p>And when a company of Woodelves suddenly appeared through the trees, seeming to almost stumble unexpectedly on this great army, it caused the Warg packs to slaver and turn on their keepers. Blood and gobbets of bloody meat were flung into the air before Búrzbag ordered their release and for Krimpsnag’s battalion of Orcs to pursue the Elves. ‘Bring us back some meat and sport, lads!’ he roared to the cheering and baying of his hordes. The Elves were apparently poorly armed, few in number and fled noisily into Mirkwood. Wargs and Orcs pursued eagerly and disappeared into the dark tree-line. Búrzbag, trusted general of Khamûl, ordered a rest and he waited impatiently for the return of his soldiers with their captives.</p>
<p>He had fires lit in anticipation, drove stakes into the ground, hung chains over a gallows.</p>
<p>And waited.</p>
<p>The remaining Wargs were maddened with hunger and he ordered Zharg to have a few stragglers from the Mordor contingent butchered.  He did not trust Mordor. They were too up themselves and this would be good to show who was in charge here; Dol Guldur. But he could see the ugly and ambitious Mordor captain, Grishnâk, watched him murderously as his men were slaughtered, and Búrzbag swore to himself that Grishnâk would be next. In fact, he might arrange for the captured Woodelves to give them a fight and goad Grishnâk into fighting them. Make sure there was a sneaky knife in the ribs somewhere… </p>
<p>Then from the dark tree-line came one of Krimpsnag’s men. Some of the Orcs on the edges of the camp straightened up and shaded their eyes against the horrid sunlight. There was a frisson of anticipation of the sport to come. Fresh meat. Elf-meat. Sweeter than Mordor Orc certainly. </p>
<p>Búrzbag waited. The soldier staggered into camp, he saw it was Gob, a trusty lieutenant who had served Búrzbag in Gundabad before he had been promoted to Dol Guldur. Gob came towards him, bowing low. His spines were stiffened and his eyes darted everywhere like he was nervous. Or excited. Nervous of me, decided Búrzbag. Excited by the prospect of battle.</p>
<p>‘Speak,’ Búrzbag ordered.</p>
<p>‘Most high and mighty General,’ Gob started and Búrzbag growled impatiently, seeing Grishnâk sidle towards him, listening and Zharg had also come to hear what had happened. ‘We came upon the Búbhosh-dug camp, Durb-hai.’ </p>
<p>Búrzbag grabbed Gob round the neck and pulled him forwards, narrowed his yellow eyes and bared his fangs. ‘What? Those snaga led you to their own camp? Then why have you not brought back their heads?’</p>
<p>He felt Gob swallow and enjoyed the stink of his fear.</p>
<p>‘Krimpsnag sent me back to give you the message. He says they are weak. He says to show you where they are.’</p>
<p>Zharg shoved a map under Gob’s nose. ‘Show us,’ he snarled.</p>
<p>Gob was a rare beast for he actually knew what a map was and he stubbed a thick, clawed finger down on the map. ‘Here it is. And Durb-hai, there is more. Azgarâzir is there. His banner flies above a tent.’</p>
<p>Grishnâk pushed forwards, narrowing his yellow eyes avariciously. ‘We will be well rewarded if we take Azgarâzir. Alive and screaming, to Barad-dûr.’</p>
<p>Zharg bared his teeth at Grishnâk. ‘It will not be to Mordor that he is taken. You cannot call your curs soldiers. It will be for the glory of Gundabad that he is taken. It will be my soldiers who take the Scourge of Agannâlo and it will be to Dol Guldûr.’ Grishnâk snarled and stuck his face in Zharg’s as if they might fight between themselves and Búrzbag took out his short Warg-whip and slashed at them both.</p>
<p>‘Get back both of you. It is for the Nazgûl to decide where he goes. My lord Khamûl will be joining us soon and so help you if you do not fight alongside each other.’</p>
<p>Grishnâk sneered at Zharg, but Zharg suddenly said, ‘If Azgarâzir is here, where are his whelps? Zigserat and Thrakagâsh?’</p>
<p>‘Who cares!’ Búrzbag was getting angry with his captains sniping and snarling. He needed them to fight or they would soon fall upon each other and he did not want his army divided.  ‘If we get the King of the búbhosh-dug, they will fall and we will smash their little kingdom into dust.’ He punched his fist into his palm emphatically and swung his heavy head around to glare at his minions. ‘We will do this,’ he snarled. ‘Fall out.’ He turned and barked at his own captains. ‘Get them up. Get ’em moving. We’ll do this by numbers, no point in stealth,’ he growled at Grishnâk. ‘Get ‘em charging through the forest. Gob, where is Krimpsnag?’</p>
<p>Gob cringed. ‘Fighting for the glory of Dol Guldur, durb-hai. The snaga raised the alarm and there were archers took our first ranks. Krimpsnag sent me back here for reinforcements.’</p>
<p>Búrzbag knew then why Gob stank of fear. ‘Laggard were you?’ he roared and grabbed the cowardly pushdug by his neck and shook him till his teeth rattled. ‘Did you run before the battle?’</p>
<p>‘No! No!’ Gob squeaked. ‘I swear Krimpsnag told me to carry the message to you.’</p>
<p>‘And I swear, Gob, that if I find this is a trap, you will suffer the Vengeance of Thunder!’</p>
<p>Gob trembled. He valued his hide. It was bad enough evading the Sons of Thunder themselves but to have his own General threaten the punishment meted out by those devils was too much and he resolved to sneak away under cover of the dark trees and return to the Mountains where things were much safer. For he had heard screams as he scurried away from the Elves’ camp, and they had not sounded like Elves. But he was no harbinger of bad news; he had seen too many times what happened to messengers with such news. Their entrails often ended up in dinner.</p>
<p>Búrzbag gave the order to turn from their road along the edge of the Wood and to enter the forest after Krimpsnag, just north of the East Bight. They crashed through the forest, hacking their way directly towards the Elves’ camp, for there was no hope in stealth. The noise of the excited and eager army was deafening; gibbering and cursing and shouting harshly, and the Wargs howling and yipping in as much excitement at the Orcs for they smelled blood. </p>
<p>No chance the Búbhosh-dug wouldn’t know they were coming, Búrzbag thought as he mounted his Warg-Queen. She spun round and gnashed at him but he thrashed her hide with his Warg-whip until she sprang round and leapt towards the tree-line. But if the Búbhosh were fighting Krimpsnag’s soldiers, they would be too busy to know what was about to hit them. His blood surged in excitement and his cock bulged with power and anticipation. Brandishing the heavy mace he had been given by Azog himself, he roared, ‘Attack!’</p>
<p>The Wargs leapt away, growling and yipping and roaring with blood-lust. Some of them had goblin riders but most were too wild for anyone. Búrzbag’s Warg loped after them, her strong haunches gathered under her and she bounded after her pack.</p>
<p>The trouble with Wargs, thought Búrzbag angrily as they came upon the clearing where the Elvish camp was, is that they do not care if it was Elf blood or Orc blood they smelled. They do not much care what they eat if it is half alive and crawling. There were piles of bodies, each with a green-fletched arrow sticking out of various places. Some of them had two. But all were dead and no sign of the Búbhosh-dug. </p>
<p>A soldier crawled towards him from the slaughter, crying out for help. Which he gave with a swift mercy. He could see Krimpsnag’s head on his own spear and sighed wearily; he thought he had taught his captain better. The Wargs were feasting and he motioned to his handlers to whip them back. If they were sated, they would be no good for the battle to come.</p>
<p>‘A trap,’ Grishnâk jeered. ‘I hope you have a good story to tell the Nazgûl. He will not be pleased that you were so easily tricked by Azgarâzir.’</p>
<p>‘They are still here,’ Zharg said softly. ‘I can smell them.’</p>
<p>But it was too late then and the swhoosh of arrows came from nowhere, the trees perhaps, and Búrzbag cursed Gob and swore that he would rip out of his beating heart and eat it in front of him. But Gob had gone and a green-fletched arrow pierced Búrzbag in the eye and he fell crashing onto the steaming pile of bodies already in the clearing.</p>
<p>Zharg picked up Búrzbag’s insignia and pinned it to his chest. ‘Shoot your bastards!’ He yelled at his own men.’ Upwards you curs! Into the trees! Their archers are in the trees!’ But by then, the Elves were charging forwards and it was hand to hand battle.</p>
<p>0o0o</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thranduil shoved his hair out of his eyes, it was bloody and stuck to his face but he dared not stop. All around him was slaughter. Nearby he heard shouting and recognised Galion’s cry and swung round to see his old friend at his back and an Orc standing headless right in front of him. The Orc’s head was rolling away and Galion cast a quick glance round.</p>
<p>‘Honestly, Thranduil. Did you really not noice that one?’ Galion said crossly.</p>
<p>‘I was too busy with that one,’ Thranduil replied, pulling his sword out of another.</p>
<p>But that was the last time they could speak for suddenly the assault intensified. Orcs poured into the gaps created by the fallen and it was not just hand to hand combat but they had to physically hold the enemy back with their shields, their bodies, their own weight. The archers had taken out significant numbers of the first wave of Orcs and a good number of Wargs, but the Orcs had quickly realised the trap and targeted the trees. And once the trap had been sprung, it was as Thranduil had said, their advantage was quickly spent. The Elves were being forced back to the hillfort and while that was part of Thranduil’s plan, it had sprung too soon, he thought.</p>
<p>There is no way out of this, he realised suddenly. No help is coming.  There is no one else.</p>
<p>He could not see anything but snarling, gnashing teeth, yellow maddened eyes and blood. He thought some of it was his own.His men attacked with renewed vigour, the endless slash and strike, inelegant, heavy, flesh sucking at his blade. And the sheer numbers of Orcs. A sea of malice and hatred. And there were the Wargs too, with gnashing teeth and slicing claws.</p>
<p>A horn sounded somewhere, a signal to retreat to the hillfort. Gilvaren must have taken that decision, Thranduil thought. Gilvaren would be able to see the battle from his vantage point on the hill and signalled the retreat. If they could get back, the defences would give them breathing space and a chance to rest a while before the Orcs figured out the next attack.</p>
<p>He was aware that his men were slowly retreating, as if they were being beaten back.<br/>His feet slipped and slid beneath him and he did not need to glance down to know that he stepped upon the blood, the entrails, the pulp of his own men.  The rich iron-salt smell of blood was all around him and the sounds of battle; the heavy, relentless clang of metal, shouting, screaming away over his left shoulder. Wargs snarling, their muzzles wet with blood.</p>
<p>Don’t look, he told himself. Focus. Ahead. Behind. To the sides. Be aware. Sharpen your senses.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He blocked the heavy axe that  would have split his head in two. Forcing it up and away he swung Gystalya, his shining frost-white sword, upwards and the huge Uruk that was lunging towards him stopped dead in its tracks and slowly toppled over. Thranduil did not stop to watch but leapt ahead and slashed at the next two, and the next and the next.</p>
<p>The bright swords of his elves had slowly disappeared, blackened with blood or vanquished, and there were fewer and fewer left standing now, and the standard of the Oak and Stag of the Wood had long since been torn down and trampled into the ground. </p>
<p>He caught movement in the corner of his eye, just in time to bring his own shield up against a curved sabre that slashed down at him. A sudden whine, an arrow whizzed past his ear and drove deep into the heart of the goblin. The goblin looked startled for a moment and then his eyes glazed and he toppled slowly, sinking to the ground. Thranduil did not hesitate but drove his sword into the trembling corpse to make sure it did not rise. Around him, the shouting and clashing blades was deafening but the shrill whine of arrows had lessened and he knew they were running out.</p>
<p>A Orc lay behind him, gurgling and clutching its belly in spasms. Thranduil curled his lip in disgust and slashed his sword across its throat and then turned to hack at an Orc that struggled with one of his own Elves.</p>
<p>But even he was beginning to feel the bite of exhaustion. Driving him on had been the battle fever in his blood, but he knew there was a limit to how long it could take him, his depleted forces before they tired. And the orcs seemed endless.</p>
<p>Behind him he could hear his own men and listened for the strength of their Song. </p>
<p>There was a roaring that reminded him of something that for a moment he could not think what it was. And then he remembered: Beleriand. The sudden silence in the midst of battle. And then the roaring flames as dragons roved to and from above the armies of the Host.</p>
<p>But Smaug was dead. Surely there was not a dragon? He scanned the sky anxiously and saw smoke billowing like a bank of grey fog. His men were coughing, running, shouting now. And then he realised.</p>
<p>Fire.</p>
<p>The enemy had set fire to the Wood and it burned.</p>
<p>Eru Illuvatar, help us now, he prayed knowing it was useless.</p>
<p>It was tiredness in the end that made him stumble.</p>
<p>A scream of steel arrows came instantly around him, felling any Orc close to him for his archers had, as one, turned from their targets towards their fallen King.</p>
<p>A heavy blow suddenly knocked him sideways and then as he brought up his shield to defend himself, another blow struck on his helm and made him see stars, literally, and he crashed to his knees. The Orc lifted its hammer for the killing blow, and suddenly it stumbled beneath the storm of arrows that rained down desperately.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>0o0o</p>
<p>Next chapter: The Golden Wood. Lothlorien is not immune.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Fire and Smoke</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sorry.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Zigserat- names for Laersul. Sorcerer of Death<br/>
Thrakagâsh- and Thalos. Fire-bringer.</p><p>Unbeta’d so please let me know any glaring mistakes. This is just unfinished business from Sons of Thunder and Songs of Rohan/Deeper than Breathing.</p><p> </p><p>Chapter 3. Fire and Smoke</p><p> </p><p>‘Find the King!’</p><p>“He was there, near that ditch. Quick!’</p><p>‘Orcs coming. Circle! Archers, cover Aerglin and Silaros! They were close to where Thranduil fell!’ Galadhon ordered frantically. Flames roared through the forest and the Elves should have fled back to the fort as the King had intended, where Gilvaren waited with his fresh troops. Except Thranduil had disappeared. The King had been fighting the oncoming slough of Orcs when he had slipped. Instantly Galadhon had given a call and arrows rained down on the Orcs, leaving the Elves’ left flank unprotected only for a moment but it was enough and now a new attack had come from the gap at their left whilst some of Galadhon’s men were on the ground amongst the flames and searching for the King.</p><p>Galadhon drew his own twin blades and slashed left right up, killing three Orcs in quick succession. Aerglin was at his side and fighting a huge Uruk, its little yellow eyes like a pig’s, malicious and intelligent. It brought its heavy sabre upwards so Aerglin had to step back and the Uruk smiled nastily and slashed downwards with a killing blow that would have taken Aerglin’s head off had not Dameron been there with a knife that he plunged into the beast’s neck. </p><p>From the ditch where Thranduil had fallen, Silaros whistled three times and as one, Galadhon’s archers were up into the trees and rushing through the branches towards the call.</p><p>‘Has he found him?’ Aerglin asked breathlessly as he came up beside Galadhon. Flames roared through the trees and smoke drifted, choking yellow with sulphurous fumes. ‘We cannot stay here.’</p><p>Galadhon did not answer but fired arrow after arrow at any Orc that came close to Silaros.  Dameron joined him. </p><p>‘Dameron, cover Silaros and me,’ Galadhon instructed and turned to Brethil. ‘Sound the Rally! Keep at it until Gilvaren comes.’ He did not wait to hear the horn but leapt down to Silaros, sheathing one of his knives and keeping the other loose in his hand. </p><p>‘Where did you see him last?’ he shouted frantically to Silaros. His lieutenant glanced up at him and then gestured hopelessly to the ground near their feet. Galadhon joined him to rake through the  detritus on the ground, the dead wood and branches even as sparks leapt and caught on the dead leaves, flared into life. He kicked a dead Orc out of his way.  Another not quite dead Orc crawled away whimpering in fear and agony. With his unsheathed knife, Galadhon slit its throat and continued searching. Finding nothing, he leapt into the next brake and began searching, kicking through brambles and dead white wood whilst overhead, his archers fired and fired, volley after volley into the swarm of Orcs that struggled with the wall of Elves that were desperately trying to stop their advance..  </p><p>‘Here!’ Silaros shouted and Galadhon leapt to his side. His lips formed a desperate prayer to Elbereth.</p><p>Thranduil lay amongst the dry leaves, his eyes were closed and half of his face was covered in blood. Already the flames were devouring the dry leaves and wood, sparks leapt into the dry grass near Thranduil and there was a roar from the throats of a horde of Orcs who had spotted the Elves crouching in the ditch.</p><p>0o0o</p><p>In the Northern Wood, flames raced with horrid inevitability. Roared like dragons. Shadows of the Orc hordes lurched black against the wall of fire, crouching, scampering, jagged, awkward. Orcs and goblins always looked like they moved wrongly, thought Thalos as he slashed downwards through the throat of a Warg. Its tough hide slid apart and red gore spilled put over his hands but he did not stop, dragging his bloody blade back and slicing it over the Warg’s gnashing snout. The noise of battle, clanging of blades, the swoosh of arrows, shouting, yammering of orcs, and the terrible crash of trees as they burned.</p><p>Suddenly a searing pain zipped along his cheek and he whirled, throwing up his long white knife to ward off attack. Behind him, Laegrist stood, sword bloody and an Orc crashed to the ground between them.</p><p>‘Be ware Thalos. They surround us.’ The counsellor who had accompanied Oropher over the mountains from Doriath, was breathing hard. ‘We must go, flee. Try to regroup back towards the stronghold.’</p><p>‘Retreat?’ Thalos licked his lips for his mouth was dry, and wiped his brow with the wrist of his sword hand.  In the other was a long knife. ‘Lagorúthon will say we give them our backs. ‘He gave the slightest smile, and continued more seriously. ‘Does that not draw them back home? To our families?’</p><p>‘Retreat to the other side of the river, then release the river into the channel. After all, that is why we dammed the river, so the deep channel around the stronghold is dry and we can release the river if they attack.’</p><p> ‘While the Wood burns down around us?’ Thalos was aware that his men had drawn a little around them, fighting and keeping the enemy from them. Protecting him while he took counsel. But here, the river had gouged deeply, over Ages past, forming a deep channel around the rock into which the stronghold had been delved. More like a gorge than riverbed and the Elves had fortified all along the banks.</p><p>‘We must decide swiftly,’ Laegrist said. ‘There is no help coming. We are beset and overrun.’ He bent and wiped his sword on a dead orc at his feet. </p><p>Thalos looked away eastwards towards the Lonely Mountain. ‘This is planned - Sauron has taken the war to all fronts; Erebor, Imladris, Gondor.’ He was quiet for a moment and hoped with all his heart that Legolas was not even now creeping into Mordor like a shadow. But this fire and blood, defeat on his lips? Was this any worse?</p><p>Wearily, feeling that he abandoned the Wood, he grabbed one of his own heralds as he passed and leaned towards him, shouting over the battle din. ‘Ceredir, send messages, more than one, to Laersul and my father.’ He sighed. ‘We are retreating to the Eryn Tyren.’ He blinked for sweat and blood and ash were clouding his vision. ‘Send another to Radagast. I know not if he is safe, or at home or in the Wood. Tell him we need him. The Wood needs him. I hope that Beorn is helping my brother.’</p><p>Ceredir looked at him briefly but he was too well trained to question the order and he put the silver horn to his lips and blew. The horn sounded a blast of purity over the battle din. Immediately the elvish forces reformed. The rearguard formed a reversed phalanx that stepped slowly back towards the edge of the dry river bed. Arrows swarmed over their heads to give them cover and when they reached the edge of the gorge, those furthest from the Orcs scrambled and slid down into the gorge and then turned to shoot arrows over the heads of the ir comrades. Even so, it was a mad scramble into the gorge.</p><p>Thalos tugged at Laegrist’s sleeve, pulling him down into the gulley. They covered each other as they slid and scrambled down the cliff. The river bed itself was smooth rock where it had been eroded over the years and they dashed across the open ground. Arrows flew over their heads as they pelted along the bottom and through the thicket of stakes that crowded along the gulley. A Warg leapt stupidly after them and the impetus of its heavy muscular body sent it bounding too fast down the cliffside so it lost its balance and careered past them and onto the tall stakes the Elves had driven into the dry river bed. Impaled, it squirmed and squealed, yowling in anguish.  The others hauled themselves to a sliding halt upon the steep slopes and stared, then paced up and down the bank, watching the elves retreat. </p><p>A spear swished past Thalos’ shoulder and he took more notice, weaving and ducking between the stakes. He looked up to see the fringe of his own men scrambling up the other side of the gorge. Ropes had been thrown down to aid them and their comrades on the ramparts were hauling up those below. Archers sheltered upon the ramparts that had been raised high and their arrows flew thickly into the Orcs crowding on the other side, looking for the way down.</p><p>Thalos was hauled up onto the ramparts and made his way quickly along the tops. His men nodded to him in brief acknowledgment but no one stopped him. He strode to the pinnacle of the ramparts so he could see across the ditch. The last men were scrambling up onto the banks, hauled up by anything they could get hold of. </p><p>Lagorúthon appeared at his shoulder. His face was smudged with dirt, soot, blood, but Thalos thought they all looked like that. ‘Retreat?’ he asked angrily, his eyes blazed with fury. ‘You have given them our backs! I hope you have a plan, Thranduillion! Because we are outnumbered and will be slaughtered.’</p><p>0o0</p><p> </p><p>Laersul wiped sweat from his brow and his hand came away bloody. He had been hit hard by a goblin’s curved scimitar across the pauldron but nevertheless, it had sent him reeling and the goblin had then leapt upon him and tried to saw through Laersul’s neck. The same goblin’s head was no longer on its shoulders but was being kicked between the iron-shod feet of its comrades with no more regard than if it had been a cabbage.  He had Sulis to thank for that.</p><p>He wiped his eyes with the bit of fabric that peeked from a tear in his chain mail. He could not remember that tear happening. He could not remember how his helm had become so dented that he felt the dents press against his skull. but he thought it was probably from  the cave troll that had so persistently thumped him around the head and shoulders with its spiked club. The same troll was lying across the clearing and the Elves were using it as cover.</p><p>He ached from fighting, the battle lust had drained away and now he was simply exhausted. It seemed the crush of Goblins and Orcs and Wargs was endless and above him, bats harried and flew at the faces of his own men. The forces from Dol Guldur had brought the bats with them in a huge black cloud that had reminded Laersul of the Battle of Erebor, the Five Armies, whatever. He did not care what it was called now and he thought no one would even remember this battle when all was done, here at the edge of the Wood. Here where I let my men die, he thought as he plunged his sword inelegantly into the chest of a Warg that had leapt onto the cave troll’s carcass. He shoved it back down to the other side.</p><p>‘My Lord, what next?’ Sulis asked. His face was a mask of blood, black and red. He looked like some demon.</p><p>Laersul thought for a moment. They could not keep this up. ‘Sound the retreat, up into the trees and fall back.’ It felt like a defeat but they needed to regroup. ‘We will make our stand the Arthad Brethil.’ </p><p>Sulis’ eyes were dull. It told Laersul everything; they were exhausted, on the verge of defeat. It was just a matter of time. </p><p>As the bugle sounded retreat and regroup into the trees, and he heard and felt his Elves slip away, vanishing into the trees, and he thought of Theliel and wished he could see her one last time, hoped that Thalos had her safe.</p><p>For the slightest moment, he let his guard down as he turned to follow his men. Suddenly, there was a piercing, shocking pain and his hand flew to his neck. Warmth seeped through his fingers. Pulsed through his hand. Gasping he tried to press his hands against the gush of blood as his life pumped over his neck, his hands, his chest.</p><p>Elbereth, he thought. I am going to die. </p><p>He fell back against a tree, blinking as his eyesight went dim. ‘I am sorry, Adar.’</p><p>He was aware of shapes lurching towards him. He blinked, and looked up into the grinning face of an ugly goblin captain. ‘We bin lookin  for you a long time,’ it said with satisfaction.</p><p>‘ ‘Oo is it then?’ asked another even uglier goblin.</p><p>‘This,’ said the first triumphantly, ‘is Zigserat.’ The second stared with round, gleeful eyes. There was a ululation of triumph, it was taken up by the hordes of Orcs that swarmed into the clearing.</p><p>There was the glitter of a spear and unbearable agony.</p><p> </p><p>ooooOOOOOooooo</p><p> </p><p>Thranduil knew he was lying amongst the fallen leaves, that they had swept about him like a cloak, but there was yellow smoke creeping across the forest floor, it fingered its way through the Wood as if it searched for him. </p><p>It crept over him, through the leaves, curled up over him like a living thing and coiled about him. The smoke grew denser, coalesced and grew tinged with yellow. He thought he put his hand over his mouth as smoke filled his lungs. He tried to look about him, but he could barely move. There was a roaring in his ears that he realised was fire raging, and then he realised he could hear the sound of trees crashing… </p><p>…Where are your sons, it hissed as it raised above him. It seemed like there were diamond hard eyes, bitter like beads of blood. A serpent. Where….are…. your… ssssssonssss</p><p>He stared at it, his mouth a hard line. Khamul you coward, hiding behind your sorcery, he spat.</p><p>The yellow smoke was sinuous, pored over him, coil after coil, squeezing so he could not breath. It forced its way into his mouth, suffocating him and he choked. </p><p> </p><p>A battle field he did not recognize. Suddenly a black shadow fell across him and a thin wailing cry pierced the din of battle. Men covered their ears and it seemed to give new hope to the Orcs. They surged forwards, snarling, and the shrieking wail terrified the warriors around him</p><p>'Nazgul! Nazgul!' came a cry and he glanced around to see a Dwarf glaring upwards as if he would incinerate the accursed creature with his gaze alone.</p><p>'Shoot it, Legolas!'</p><p>Legolas. His sweetest youngest child stood tall and drew an unfamiliar bow. High above, a winged creature sped across the grey, rain-soaked sky. But as he watched, the shadow wheeled and turned and swooped low over the battlefield, shrieking as it came like a storm upon them. Suddenly a thin flame shot out from Legolas’ bow as he stood amongst the seething mass of Orcs and Men. The flaming arrow merely glanced off the tail of the creature and it wheeled again suddenly, thrashing its singed tail.</p><p>This time, the creature approached more slowly, its flight undulating and its blunt head searching. The Nazgul screamed again and in the distance came answering calls, two more winged creatures were speeding to the aid of the first one.</p><p>From his left, more arrows flew but the three Nazgul now began to converge on one spot and he saw with pride and despair that Legolas stood tall, the  great bow bent back and flaming arrows fitted against the bowstring. He aimed upwards and waited. The beat of the leathery wings sounded over the battle and the Nazgul screamed overheard, circling. The winged creature swooped low, the raking talons outstretched towards his bright child. Suddenly Legolas fired, straight into its belly. Shrieking horribly, the winged creature writhed and flapped away, jerking and lurching in the sky. Thranduil watched it as it plunged down into a mass of Orcs, smoke billowed out from where it fell and a piercing, furious shrieking marked the Nazgul's landing.</p><p>Instantly he was aware of Legolas' danger now for the other two enraged Nazgul had arrived and swooped and harried him from overhead. In the talons of each of the creatures were many rocks and they let these fall now where Legolas stood below. Thranduil cried out as the bright gold head ducked and then Legolas was running for cover beside a huge dead creature. Rocks showered around him and mud flew up as boulders pounded the ground. </p><p>Thranduil  saw him hold his hands up over his head and then he fell. No! he cried out. He scrabbled at the dirt, at the stones and hard ground, trying to stand, to reach his child but a pressure was on his chest and the yellow smoke curled upon him, pinned his limbs and he could not move.</p><p>‘All is lost.’ The smoke densified until it was a repulsive muscular body of a serpent. The flat head and eyes of beads of blood regarded him triumphantly. ‘Your sonsssss are dead.’</p><p>He blinked and felt the hard ground and dry leaves under him. He was here, in the Wood.  Through the yellow smoke Orcs poured through the trees, black silhouettes against the infernal backdrop of the burning forest. Their grotesque shapes leapt over flames and suddenly a group of warriors appeared, running for their lives. Thalos? He thought.</p><p>No!  Thalos is not here in the East Bight, he thought. This is a dream. This is the stronghold. Have I been outwitted? Have they gone there and left only a remnant here to deceive us, to engage me here only to attack the stronghold?</p><p>Flames filled the glade with a stench of death, of burning meat. There was the unmistakable sound of a terrified horse screaming somewhere not far away. </p><p>Light from the fires caught a glint of steel, made it bloody and red. </p><p>Then the smoke walls parted and a tall powerful warrior in shining armour charged into the clearing, he raised his gleaming sword and struck down the Orcs who ran from his fury. His blond hair was in tight braids, his grey-blue eyes fierce with battle.</p><p>Laersul! Thranduil shouted a warning, but there was no sound. He tried to fight his way to Laersul’s side but his limbs were so heavy and something, someone was holding him. </p><p>There was a hiss and whine of arrows but he could not tell if they were in the dream or in the battle he was really fighting here in the Bight. Laersul, magnificent and deadly, wielded his sword and the light glanced off the blade, arrows falling away as he did so. He turned, his face fierce, towards his foes but one stray arrow hissed past and between the gorget and pauldron. Laersul stumbled slowly, unbelieving. His sword fell heavily to the ground and he sank to his knees, raising his hands to his neck. A slow red stain seeped out between his fingers, spreading over his hands. He raised his eyes and looked straight at Thranduil agony and despair on his face. His lips moved briefly and then suddenly, Orcs swarmed over him.</p><p>O0o0o0o0o</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Wood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Unbeta’d as my wonderful Anarithilen is focused on Seven Stars, but I knew I had to put everyone out of their misery.  Apologies for how long since I posted but Covid is just in the way!<br/>Characters:<br/>Thranduil  Celeborn. Legolas. Galadriel. Galion</p>
<p>Non canon characters:<br/>Laersul- oldest son<br/>Thalos- middle son<br/>Anglach- Thranduil’s foster son, who was amongst those ‘taken or slain’ in Gollum’s escape. He was killed cruelly.<br/>Gilvaren: Thranduil’s old friend from Doriath, a lord of the Wood.<br/>Galadhon: friend of Thalos, warrior.<br/>Gystalya: Thranduil’s sword, given by Dain in return for Orcrist </p>
<p>Gob a goblin of the Mountains.</p>
<p>Azgarâzir: Name given to Thranduil by the Nazgul. The Nazgul's name for Thranduil, whom they hate more than any other ruler for his defence and war against them in Dol Guldur. Equivalent to Warmonger, Death-dealer, Scourge.<br/>Agannâlo – Nazgul's name for Mirkwood. Literally death-shadow.<br/>Zigserat- names for Laersul. Sorcerer of Death<br/>Thrakagâsh- and Thalos. Fire-bringer.<br/>(Legolas is just Azgarâzir’s whelp.)<br/>Durb-hai - lord of our people<br/>Búbhosh-dug - Great Filth (their name for the Wood elves)<br/>Burzehai: Folk of the Tower. This is what the orcs and Uruks of Dol Guldûr call themselves<br/>Pavise: kite shaped upright shields that were used to shelter archers as well as the usual function.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Chapter 4 The Wood</p>
<p>Lothlorien</p>
<p>The air was heavy. Pressure crushed them, so heavy it must break and rain, thought Galadriel. It was hardly surprising for this was the second onslaught they had borne against Dol Guldur and repelled them. Now there were clouds gathering over the edges of Mirkwood and she lifted her hand to shade her eyes, to see the dark edge of the shadowed forest. She frowned. This was no ordinary storm. The clouds were purple edged and lightning crackled around their edges. The air shivered and thunder rolled slowly across the plains.</p>
<p>Her fingers caressed Nenya, her light flashed and glowed and suddenly ignited. Her face was lit with the uncanny white light of the Ring and she heard a Summoning, the Song in the North that pulled the Earth and Air, caught a rushing wind and harnessed the lightning and …rain.</p>
<p>Nenya strained towards the Song, its Power was …immense. She felt its pull on her, how she wanted to run towards it.</p>
<p>Who is it? she thought with a terrible gaping hole in her heart for there was only one who could wield the Song like this and he… he was long gone, torn apart in the dungeons of Sauron. He is reborn, Glorfindel had said. Had he returned to these lost shores? Was he here?</p>
<p>She hurried to her Mirror and sketched the signs over the Glass, ran Nenya around the rim of the Glass and opened the strange mechanism, peered into the darkness. There was an urgency in Nenya now, and the Mirror seemed almost cognizant, shivering under her hand and the obsidian-darkness had a crimson hue, streaked with yellow… like the elliptical pupil of a great, lidless Eye. </p>
<p>She had seen that every time she had opened the glass but now the yellow suffused the whole mirror and she saw it was not the yellow pupil as before.</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>Smoke.</p>
<p>Dense yellow smoke that coiled through the trees, threading its way like groping fingers.</p>
<p>There  was distant screaming. A roaring the sound of trees crashing…</p>
<p>Mirkwood burned….Trees alight with flames that roared over the wood like dragonfire.</p>
<p>She did not wait. </p>
<p>Celeborn, she called him as she ran, fleet as she had been in the time before, when her name was Artanis. Celeborn turned towards her in alarm for he had heard something too.  </p>
<p>It was not only Mirkwood that burned.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ooo</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thranduil’s mouth was open in a scream of rage and grief. His limbs flailed to free themselves, fighting to get to Laersul’s side but he was held and the yellow smoke poured and coiled and thrashed around him like a serpent and for a moment he thought he saw Legolas standing amongst the trees, his eyes wide in horror and his mouth open. But it was not Laersul that Legolas  saw, but Thranduil himself, as if it were Thranduil who had fallen beneath a scrabbling, frenzied horde of orcs. <br/>Suddenly the sharpest pain imaginable pierced through Thranduil. A spear or lance had been shoved into him. The shock of it made him cry out and he felt his weight pulled upwards by the spear.</p>
<p>‘Fuck, Thran. You fat bastard!’</p>
<p>Thranduil’s eyes flickered open and saw his own arm was slung over another’s shoulder. Galion. He was being hauled through the yellow choking smoke by his old friend who cursed and swore enough to bring the Valar in fury at his blasphemy. ‘You’re…too… bloody… heavy.’</p>
<p>His own feet dragged behind him and his other arm hung loosely by his side and the reason Thranduil thought he had been pierced with a spear was because he had a thick black bolt sticking out of the arm that hung by his side. He must have groaned because Galion stopped hauling him suddenly and turned his head. The fear and anxiety in Galion’s eyes suddenly turned tender. ‘Elbereth’s tits, Thran. You gave me a fucking scare. Don’t do that again. How are we supposed to win without you?’</p>
<p>Thranduil wanted to say something but he could not and suddenly he was being hauled up onto a horse and  Galion said tersely, ‘Take the King to the fortress. Quickly now.’ There was the sound of a horn sounding the retreat and then Thranduil was being gripped again, this time by a mounted warrior. He felt the horse’s smooth hair beneath his hand and the warrior clasped him about the chest. Then he was flying through the flames and smoke. </p>
<p>Ooooo</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At last Galadhon saw the hill fort the elves had raised north of the battle ground. Gilvaren’s green and gold standards streamed and snapped in the wind. There was a ripple of disciplined consternation as Galadhon galloped his snorting, steaming horse up to gates that opened for him and he charged through with the King clasped to him. The King’s head lolled back against Galadhon’s chest. There was blood on Galadhon’s lamellar armour, both his own and the King’s.  </p>
<p>Gilvaren was already striding towards the horse and reached up to Galadhon to take the King in his arms, cradling him. ‘Thranduil?’ his voice was full of fear. He held the King against his own strong body, careful not to jar the thick black bolt that stuck out of his arm, and glanced round at his men, knowing the effect of them seeing the King like this. Knowing that their plan might come to naught without Thranduil to summon the power of Earth and Air and Water to aid them. ‘Arm yourselves!’ he commanded. ‘Take up your weapons and ready yourselves for battle! They will come and we will be ready!’ But there was no doubt that their victory was far less assured now with the King wounded.</p>
<p>There was a sudden flurry of movement as his men broke to arm themselves; cavalry troops ran for their horses, swung astride and snatched up lances. Archers ran to the serried battlements and stood behind the upright pavises dug into the ground, fastened quivers on their backs and strung bows. The infantry rapidly formed their ranks. </p>
<p>Gilvaren jerked his head at the orderlies who hovered nervously nearby. ‘Take the King. Make him comfortable.’</p>
<p>‘Do not dare,’ Thranduil said so quietly that only Gilvaren, Galadhon and the two orderlies heard. </p>
<p>Gilvaren’s face changed. A smile of utter relief slipped over his face. ‘I think you should be in bed, let me take charge,’ he said with a grin and he put his strong hand beneath his old friend’s uninjured arm and hoisted him upright. ‘Well if you are going to do this, at least let me bear your weight.’ His eyes were bright with pride and affection when he saw how Thranduil’s mouth pressed into a thin line against the pain. </p>
<p>Leaning heavily against Gilvaren, Thranduil leaned so his forehead gently touched Gilvaren’s in gratitude and murmured, ‘I have seen Laersul fall beneath an attack. Orcs are upon him. We cannot wait. We must begin the Summoning now.’ </p>
<p>Gilvaren looked grimly at Thranduil and nodded once. ‘I will assemble the men and we will do as you say.’ He gripped the King by his arm, holding him upright and turned his head towards the watching, anxious men. Breathing in, he made his voice powerful, low, commanding. It was his gift. ‘We summon the Wood!’ he cried and his voice seemed to reach into the heart of every man in the fort. ‘Give the Aran your song! Give him your strength for our brothers, our sons, our fathers are beset in the West and our commander is taken!’</p>
<p>The whole fort turned in stunned silence for a breath. Every man’s face turned towards their King, utterly still.</p>
<p>Suddenly, there was movement, like wave after wave coming into shore. One by one, the men began to drop to one knee upon the earth. Riders dismounted and archers leapt from the battlements to the forest floor. The Wood elves dug their fingers into the rich mud, drew the dark, deep soil like paint over their faces so it barred them like the great mythical cats of the East. With their  lamellar armour of green and brown, they seemed to melt, become invisible. As each one rose, he took a breath and hummed a low note. As more and more of them stood with their fierce, barred faces, the notes grew, wove together in a tremendous chord of power.</p>
<p>Thranduil closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, listening. There was blood on his face, on his leather lamellar armour, and he leaned heavily against Gilvaren, but he stood straighter and when he slowly opened his slate green eyes, they seemed more intense, as if they had absorbed all the colour of the Wood. His hand was clasped over the thick bolt in his arm, but now he barely felt it. He gazed fiercely at his men, knowing he looked Silvan, bloody and grinning.</p>
<p>Then he too dipped his knee and Gilvaren gripped his uninjured shoulder so he did not falter. He plunged his hand into the earth and rose with a fist of mud. Grinning, he smeared the three fingers of his hand down each side of his face and his eyes burned furiously. The single chord that came from the throats of a thousand Elves reverberated and the Air trembled with its Power. Lifting one arm to the Air, he opened his hand as if he physically caught the huge notes, twisting his hand like he gathered them into chords and wound them about, weaving courage, strength, great ribbons of sound.</p>
<p>Come, he said, summoning the Wind that howled around the great empty spaces of the world.</p>
<p>Come, he called to Water, summoning the great thunderheads gathering over the Hithaeglir. And like the pull of the Moon on the tide, he felt the surge as Air from the North and West swept towards him, bringing rain, storms in its wake. There was something else in the Song, something Thranduil did not recognise; he paused for a moment, listening to the new chords and harmonies in Song, rolling and swelling like the waves of the Sea he had never seen but could imagine, and his heart was struck with a desperate yearning, a longing for a home that was not his. </p>
<p>The orcs in the north of the Wood pouring through the burning forest to the villages and stronghold of the Wood elves were not connected to the Music, their souls had been cut from it. And so they did not know what was coming when the Wind rushed from the North through the trees, tossing and bending the trees, cracking branches and hurling twigs and leaves down upon the invading armies of orcs. But it fanned the flames too so they leapt higher and ever more ferocious, beating the fire southwards away from Thalos and the stronghold where Orcs looked about themselves in panic for the fires they had lit now cut them off from each other and the trees crashed around them as they burned. </p>
<p>In the East Bight, the Orcish army marched on unaware of the defeat of their northern troops. And in the Carrock, where the Uruks and goblins and orcs ululated their victory for they had Laersul bound and captive, did not know that the Wind stormed through the Wood, tearing up trees in its wake like a marauding army towards them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ooooooo</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gob had been lucky to escape the battle in the East Bight that had seen Burzebag and his battalion wiped out. Gob had loped through the forest, carefully evading both orcs and elves, for one would have killed him as an enemy and the other might have killed him for food, or for desertion or for fun.  But he had got to the edge of the forest safely and without encountering either. </p>
<p>Above him, the mountains gleamed with snow. Home. Thank the Dark One. </p>
<p>It had been pure misfortune that he was spotted by the Burzehai, the boys from Dol Guldur. He was lucky they were not hungry and needed recruits instead. The big ugly Uruk captain from Do Guldur, Lugdug, had gripped him by the scruff of his neck and shaken him till his teeth rattled. Lugdug would have thrown Gob to the Warg pack but Gob had gabbled that he had a message from the Gul and that he was sworn to deliver it to the generals in the Carrock. He had made up some lie about the battle in the East Bight going well and that the Gul would heap all sorts of honours upon Lugdug, whilst in his heart he hoped he could steal away again once they reached the battle. For these Burzehai were reinforcements and the main army was already engaged with the dreadful alba army.</p>
<p>Lugdug had grinned and bared his pointed teeth and thrown Gob to the ground. He had roared his approval and beat his chest, shouting, ‘Azgarâzir is on his knees in the East! We will be victorious here! We will drag Zigserat to the tower for the Lord to rip out his heart!’</p>
<p>At the time, Gob had been terrified to hear that they were to attack Zigserat. He had almost fallen to his knees to pray to the Great Eye that he would be spared whilst all around him, the brothers from Dol Guldur roared and swore and cursed and bared their pointed teeth. Though he had seen too that he was not the only one who was afraid. </p>
<p>Zigserat. Death bringer. The terrible elvish sorcerer. Wicked committer of atrocities including the infamous Slaughter of  Bagronk. It was not his only atrocity, but was probably the most notorious for the sheer number of innocent civilians killed in one day as they went about their business supplying and running the slave camps of Dol Guldur. It had shocked the goblins of the mountains and inflamed their hatred of Zigserat and his flame eyed alba. The Búbhosh-dug!</p>
<p>They had come upon the battle already in full swing with their own troops attacking a settlement. It was not elvish but a settlement of Men and the Orcs had already set fire to the village and it burned. The air was yellow and sulphurous. Lugdug turned with a vicious snarl to his troops and lifted his heavy sabre. </p>
<p>‘Attack!’ and without any warning or time to think, they charged. Gob was hit by the charge of Lugdug’s own stinking hot Warg as it lunged forwards into the affray. Gob lay for a moment, stunned and breathless until he realised he could simply roll away into a ditch nearby and play dead. Which he did for most of the battle.</p>
<p>He could see the smoke was dense, tinged yellow and sulphurous. Black silhouettes of Elves and Men and Orcs struggled and fought against the infernal backdrop of the burning settlement. Suddenly a group of screaming children appeared, running for their lives. One orc leapt forwards, grasped a child, and without pause cut its throat with horrible efficiency. It turned and snarled, dropping the limp child. There was the unmistakable sound of a terrified horse screaming somewhere not far away.</p>
<p>Gob was afraid. As much of his own side as the enemy for they might just as easily kill him. He lay very still and watched.</p>
<p>Light from the fires caught a glint of steel, made it bloody and red. Orcs dragged a woman between the burning trees, her blue dress ripped open at her breast. She struggled against the leering, mocking orc that held her. It drew up its cutlass and plunged it into her belly, grinning as she twisted in agony and gasped.</p>
<p>The smoke seemed to part suddenly and a tall, powerful Elf in shining armour charged into the clearing. He raised his wicked gleaming sword and struck down the orc and then turned upon others who ran from his fury. Gob hid his eyes then for the Elf’s hair was golden, his strong face proud, angry, and his eyes raked the forest. Gob gibbered a little and his teeth chattered for this was Zigserat. Everyone knew that there were only two Elves in the forest who had hair this colour: Azgarâzir himself and his oldest son, Zigserat. There was another whelp of Azgarâzir who was hated by the Gul but he was nothing compared with Zigserat. </p>
<p>Gob hid, pressing himself into the ground and whispering prayers to the Dark Maker that he might be spared even if all his fellows were caught and butchered, just spare me, he muttered. </p>
<p>But there was a sudden, disbelieving roar and Gob looked up. </p>
<p>He stared, astounded. For Zigserat, Sorcerer of Death, Butcher of Bagronk, sank slowly to his knees. His sword fell heavily to the ground and he raised his hands to his neck where a slow red stream seeped out between his hands where an arrow pierced the juncture between armour and gorget. He raised his eyes and his lips moved briefly and then suddenly, orcs swarmed over him.</p>
<p>oooooo</p>
<p>They dragged Zigserat into a clearing before the burning settlement and bound him and threw him down just out of bowshot so they could jeer and goad the defending Elves. But there was nothing from the settlement. No arrows. No bravado or courageous attempt to rescue him. Gob looked about himself anxiously. Was he the only one who did not believe the elves would give up their lord quite so easily? Where were they all?</p>
<p>The big Uruk general, Thrakat strutted up and down in front of him, shouting and boasting loudly. Still no arrow shot from the settlement, or charge from the Elves.</p>
<p>They had won.</p>
<p>Or at least, Gob assumed they had won because soon, every goblin, Orc and Uruk was now crowding into this one place in front of the burning settlement and Gob could no longer see anything but feet stamping and kicking. An Uruk knifed an Orc that had shoved him out of the way and a brawl started on the edge of the crowd but few took any notice. Surreptitiously, Gob rolled out of his ditch and skulked along the edges of the hooting, jubilant crowd. He recognised one or two from his own clan and glanced at them in that obsequious way that acknowledged his low status. For Gob’s status, even amongst the goblins of the mountains, was very low indeed. </p>
<p>There was one awful scream that silenced the crowd for a moment, before the gnashing and snarling resumed.</p>
<p>Gob scrambled up a tree so he could see better. The settlement still burned, an inferno, and there was a slow crash as a building near the stockade collapsed. No one took any notice. The crowd was enormous; the whole of the regiment it seemed, or at least, those that had survived.</p>
<p>Zigserat knelt before Thrakat but the arrow that had pierced him had been pulled out and was held aloft by Thrakat as a trophy. Rough cheers and ululation surrounded the Uruk general as he paraded round the circle in triumph. He towered over the rest of the soldiers, like Azog and Bolg, those great heroes of the mountains. One stride took him back to his prisoner and he leaned down and seized the golden hair of the Elf and pulled his head up and back so the ghastly white throat was exposed. Blood pulsed from the terrible wound in his shoulder and Lugdug bared his teeth and then stooped suddenly, mouth agape over the Elf’s throat. The Elf struggled weakly but could not fight his way free.</p>
<p>Gob felt a surge of disappointment. Was this really Zigserat? He had looked glorious enough when he was fighting but the blood that soaked Lugdug’s mouth when he raised his head in a roar of triumph was red enough, and the Elf only lived because Lugdug was enjoying his triumph, making it last. The Elf’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut against the pain like any other Elf Gob had ever seen. There was nothing special about him after all it seemed. </p>
<p>Thrakat was speaking now, the blood smeared over his face and mouth. Gob could not really hear what he said but he saw the General turn suddenly and lash out at Zigserat with a kick that sent him sprawling on his back and then another in the belly that made him collapse in on himself, heard the jeer that went up when he retched and gasped. Two huge, beefy Uruks with the mark of the Gul on their ugly faces rushed forwards excitedly, ropes looped over their muscular arms. </p>
<p>Will they simply hang Zigserat, thought Gob. But that would not be enough to kill him; everyone knew that Elves came back to life if you did not make sure they were dead, and surely the general would eat his flesh so he absorbed Zigserat’s legendary power? </p>
<p>There was the slightest tremble in the tree in which he clung and he looked down to see another of his clan climbing towards him. Grunt. Grunt was even lower in status than Gob, in spite of his fancy long name and he kicked out and caught Grunt in his little pointy teeth. With the sound for which he was aptly named, Grunt fell out of the tree. Irritated by the interruption, Gob turned back to see that Zigserat had struggled upright again, his face bruised and bleeding now, he seemed only to have one eye for the flesh around his face was swollen and bloody. </p>
<p>To Gob’s shocked delight, Zigserat leaned forward slightly and spat a great gobbet of bloody phlegm onto Thrakat’s manskin boots. An outraged, excited gasp came from the crowd and Thrakat threw himself furiously at the bound Elf, his great meaty fists flying and punching, his iron shod feet kicking mercilessly. Blood spattered over the shouting orcs and they leaned in and jostled closer, jeering. Suddenly the ranks parted in one place to admit a number of elite Uruks, the General’s own guard it seemed and they carried a great lance, one of those heavy spears carried by the biggest and strongest Warg riders. There was an orgasmic roar of approval and other orcs rushed in to help drive the haft into the ground. </p>
<p>On the edge of the crowd, farthest away from Gob’s tree and nearest the forest, one goblin turned its head towards the fringes of the wood, its long ears pricked. Then another looked the same way, and then another. Gob too became aware that it was suddenly colder, like the wind had changed and came from the North. Some of the goblins slipped away and Gob wondered if he should too. </p>
<p>But Thrakat was kneeling on the Elf’s neck now, where the blood seeped, and he had his thumbs over the Elf’s eyes and was pressing down, gouging at them amidst catcalls and lewd comments at the way the Elf squirmed beneath him.. But the clamour at the lance’s arrival distracted him and he looked up irritably. In that moment, Zigserat, if that was truly who it was, suddenly lashed out at Thrakat with his feet so the Uruk crashed to his knees. The Elf rolled quickly to the side, and it seemed impossible but he was on his feet suddenly. He put his head down and charged Thrakat, slamming his own head hard against Thrakat’s face. There was a roar of agony and Thrakat reared back, clutching his nose. </p>
<p>Thrakat stumbled to his feet, swearing and cursing. Furious now, he advanced upon the Elf who, though his hands were still tied cripplingly tightly behind his back and wounded, moved swiftly and even got a few more kicks in before Thrakat gestured impatiently to his guards and they pummeled the Elf into the ground, then dragged his limp, bloody body upright. Two Uruks steadied the great lance.</p>
<p>Gob’s pulse quickened and he found himself salivating in anticipation of the torture. A thin stream of piss escaped him as if often did when he was over excited. It ran down his thigh, stinking, but he did not care. He thought Zigserat would piss himself too now. They would spear him, raise him upon it so he screamed as he slowly, slowly slid down upon the blade and they would cut him open then whilst he lived and pull out his entrails. Thrakat would eat them hot and steaming and absorb the magic power of the sorcerer. He might share them with another of the commanders, thought Gob. He might throw a morsel to his favoured guards.</p>
<p>Suddenly another huge Uruk broke in through the crowd shouting. ‘The Gul will have your hide for this, Thrakat you dumbquat! My men will take  Zigserat to the tower as the Gul has commanded.’ There was a stir of excitement from the watching crowd.</p>
<p>Thrakat turned, his nose crunched and splatted, and without a word, stuck the interloper with a wickedly serrated knife. ‘Who else wants to deprive me of my sport?’ he roared. <br/>‘The Gul will hear of this!’ one of the dead Uruk’s men said. Thrakat’s own guards turned on him them and there was a brief and bloody brawl while Thrakat dropped Zigserat on the floor while he pummeled the rebel and slashed his face, drawing the same serrated blade from one ear to the other while he howled. ‘Just to give you something to remember me by,’ Thakrat snarled, wiping his knife upon the Uruk’s own hide.</p>
<p>Gob was ecstatic at the violence, and stroked a hand over his stiff cock. This was even better than he had expected and suddenly he was glad he had been found by Lugdug. He wondered briefly where Lugdug was, felt even a strange twinge of loyalty and then shook it out of himself. But there was movement again on the edge of the crowd. Goblins have sharper senses than orcs and now more of them were glancing again towards the trees. Gob had not noticed how dark, how sentinel were the trees behind the inferno of the burning settlement. A steady stream of goblins were slowly sneaking away from the edges of the crowd and skulking off into the long grass towards the river and the mountains. Gob was alarmed. He tilted his head to one side; had the other goblins heard elves readying for battle? Did they smell reinforcements on the wind? </p>
<p>No. There was only the smell of charred meat and burning on the wind. Flames devoured the dry wood of the settlement, the crack of stone as it snapped and the roar of the flames. He could feel the heat on his face now. It was being fanned by the wind; flames leapt high, higher than the stockade, and sparks settled in the trampled grass. Some Orcs and Uruks were restless and milled about, staring into the inferno, into the dark trees which swayed and sighed, but Thrakat had turned back now to the prisoner and most of the crowd were baying and gibbering again for blood and suffering.</p>
<p>But Gob had heard something. It sounded like the wind was blowing up a storm deep in the forest, racing through the trees towards them. Or the Sea rushing in on the high tide. He had heard it once. It had come in faster than he could run and he had been afraid. That was the sound now that rushed towards them and tossed the heads of the trees and hurled twigs and pine cones and beech nuts. A tree cracked and crashed, tearing other trees with it. It looked as though some huge and monstrous beast was stampeding through the forest. Or an army. </p>
<p>‘Azgarâzir has come!’ </p>
<p>‘Azgarâzir!’ For surely this storm heralded the advent of the Warmonger, Scourge! It must be Azgarâzir’s army that hurtled towards them was bringing down trees. It must be his anger, his rage.</p>
<p>Goblins fled, scrambling over each other in their panic while the Orcs tried to rally, glancing at each other nervously and shifting as if they too might run.  Another tree crashed and fell, closer this time. Much closer. </p>
<p>Thakrat bellowed to his troops. ‘Stand and fight you curs!’ he shouted. ‘The Gul will have you if you do not fight!’ But it was not enough. The Uruks whipped and shouted at the Orcs to stand and fight but some still fled. They turned their crossbows on the cowardly traitors and shot them in the back.</p>
<p>Gob found himself back in his ditch, crawling along on his belly and whimpering. Azgarâzir would bring Thrakagâsh, firebringer. They would all burn in revenge for what had been done to Zigserat. They would all be disemboweled. They would all be devoured by the wicked and cruel elves and their spirits be consumed by light. They would never know the embrace of the Great Darkness. Gob wanted to go home. </p>
<p>Azgarâzir and Thrakagâsh thundered towards them in their fury, tossed the trees aside and the roared like a hurricane. Gob scrambled to his feet and tried to run but the wind was so strong now that he had to lean against it and leaves and twigs and branches were being hurled through the air. A tree crashed somewhere near him. He threw himself to the ground and buried himself under the body of a huge Uruk hoping that no one would find him there and he could pretend to be dead; it had worked before. Cringing, he peered through his thin and spidery eyelashes at the tossing, frenzied tree line waiting for the onslaught of the approaching army. The storm struck then; thunder cracked like a whip and the lightning flashed over the mountains. Thunder cracked again and the rain came. Blown by the gale, it drenched Gob and he could no longer see the mountains. He could only see the trees, waving, windblown, stretched out and hear the roar of the wind, the rain. </p>
<p>They came suddenly from the eaves of the forest as Gob knew that they would. A mighty bear smashed into the frightened orcs, throwing them wide. After that, only the Uruks stayed to fight.  Behind the bear were others. Huge, grizzly. No ordinary bears. No. These were the terrible Shape changers and they must be the vanguard of Azgarâzir, thought Gob, weeping. There was a loud gurgling screaming as one bear seized an orc by the throat and shook it like it was a bunch of bones and rags. It might have been Thrakat, Gob thought and pressed himself into the ground. One Uruk reached down and grabbed Zigserat, dragging him towards him like a shield but the huge bear that had led the charge swung round and with one blow, cuffed the Uruk so its head flew from its shoulders, leaving bloody stringy gore as the torso collapsed. </p>
<p>The bear dropped to all fours and stood over the Elf, lying drenched in the rain. Around it, its sleuth of fighting bears formed a dense and ferocious wall, fur and teeth and claws against which the Uruks had no chance. It was bloody and brief and when it was over, they melted back into the forest taking Zigserat with them and it seemed to Gob, cringing and hiding behind a dead Uruk, that the trees closed over them as if the wood had swallowed them up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oooooooo</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Eryn Tyrnen (The Stronghold)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Apologies for the very very long delay in posting or updating this fic. Distracted by Seven Stars and Pippin</p>
<p>Unbeta’d as I give Anarithilien more than enough to do with Seven Stars, so mistakes are all mine.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Characters and glossary</p>
<p>Note: You don’t have to read anything else I’ve written to enjoy this fic but if you want to just read the last chapter of Black Arrow, it will make more sense of this chapter.</p>
<p>Thrakagâsh- Orcs name for Thalos. Fire-breather.<br/>Apâraigas. - the name Smaug gave to Thalos.<br/>Arshagal: Thalos gave Smaug this name. Great Prince of Heaven. <br/>Tawargartha: The Unbegotten of the Wood. (Guardians of the Wood) Ancient unbegotten silvans who know the Wood best, and who guard the trees.<br/>Eryn Tryen: the name of the hills upon which, or in which, the King’s stronghold is delved. <br/>Yaré-carmë: Ancient Art. (Tattoos.) The Elves of the Wood have their names inscribed on their limbs because of the danger now from Orcs and the Nazgul. It is needed for identifying bodies. But the warriors also scribe the battles they fought and the deeds they have done on their skin.<br/>OCs</p>
<p>OCs<br/>Miunieth: Galadhon’s wife (Galadhon is Thalos’ best friend and fighting with Thranduil in the East Bight)<br/>Silaneth: his little sister who has always been devoted to Thalos. (see last chapter of Black Arrow)<br/>Anglach: Legolas’ best friend, killed by the Orcs when they released Smeagol. (sniff)<br/>Lathron: The Listener, oldest, unbegotten, awoke under the stars. He is the one who inks the yaré-carmë on the skin of the Wood elves. (Tattoos)<br/>Laegrist: one of the King’s council<br/>Lagorúthon: a crusty and grumpy but highly effective captain who has trained every recruit in the king’s army since the year dot. Appears in Legolas in Esgaroth.</p>
<p>*Refers to Black Arrow, where Thranduil is given the Arkenstone and makes a bargain with Smaug. The arrival of the dwarves, of course, changes everything. It is also where Legolas got his tattoos, and the last chapters are referred to in this fic. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Summary: Sauron has brought war to Mirkwood. The elves are besieged on three sides; in the East Bight, where Thranduil leads his forces and have tricked the Orcs into engaging in battle earlier than they had wanted to. Here, Thranduil has invoked the Power of the Wood and driven back the forces from Dol Guldur. In the West of the forest, Laersul fights the goblins of the Hithaeglir and was almost defeated until Beorn’s folk arrive in the wake of the storm that Thranduil has evoked. In the North, where Thalos commands, the stronghold itself is besieged and the Elves have fallen back to behind the final defences.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Chapter 5: Eryn Tryen (The Stronghold)</p>
<p>‘Retreat?’ Lagorúthon asked angrily, his eyes blazing with fury. ‘You have given them our backs! I hope you have a plan, Thranduillion! Because we are outnumbered and will be slaughtered.’</p>
<p>Thalos turned away from Lagorúthon, angry in his turn but his anger was because he thought the man may be right. What was he doing, abandoning the Wood? Not one of Thalos’ own men remained on the far side of the gorge. He had surrendered it to Dol Guldur! Ashamed, he thought how angry Thranduil would be. But what choice did he have? There were just too many Orcs, too many goblins and Wargs. He was only surprised they didn’t have bats as well but perhaps Sauron had sent those against Erebor and Dale.</p>
<p>Looking down into the gorge, he assessed how long before the Orcs poured into the dry riverbed and began climbing up the other side as the Elves had done. Not long, he thought.  </p>
<p>‘We have a plan,’ he retorted. ‘It was agreed by the whole council if you recall.’ Even as he spoke, Orcs began scrambling and sliding down into the gorge. </p>
<p>A Warg had leapt over the bank in pursuit of the Elves, hurtling down the steep slopes, unable to stop its precipitous charge. It squealed in anguish as it sank upon the tall, sharpened stakes the Elves had driven into the riverbed. Its rider, an ugly Uruk, had sprung from its back the moment he saw the spikes and now was running away from its thrashing limbs. Struggling upon the spike that pierced its belly, the Warg howled, blood bubbling up its throat and out of its mouth.  There was a swish of an arrow and it fell silent. It was an elvish arrow though, not a crossbow bolt, that put the beast out of its misery. Above, on the far bank, other Wargs now prowled with less enthusiasm, looking down upon their pack mate and unwilling to follow. That was something, thought Thalos.</p>
<p>With some relief he saw that Laegrist was hurrying towards him, pushing past warriors who were preparing for battle.</p>
<p>‘What are we waiting for?’ Laegrist gestured towards the opposite bank where black silhouettes of Orcs and goblins gibbered and leapt against the hellish inferno, running between the fires, snatching torches and lobbing them high into the trees so they burned ever more furiously, and the flames spread faster and faster. ‘If we delay too long, all the Wood will be lost.’</p>
<p>Lagorúthon snorted. ‘We abandoned the far bank too soon and now we have to spring our trap.’ He looked at Thalos in annoyance. ‘It was never intended that we rely solely on the river,’ he protested angrily. ‘Their whole army will not come down into the gorge and even if we succeed in drowning some of them, it will do no more than delay them. And for what? Once we have sprung our trap, we have nothing left.’</p>
<p>Thalos knew that was true but he tried not to allow his sense of failure to affect him now; he needed to make decisions and fast. Fire raged over the far side of the gorge now. Trees cracked and slowly fell against others, leaning together for a moment like injured soldiers before they toppled and crashed to the forest floor, sending showers of sparks and flames into other trees and the dry leaves so the fire spread. </p>
<p>Thalos pulled out Thranduil’s sketched map of their defences. There was the deep gorge nearby, delved by the river over the Ages and dry now because they had dammed the river’s roaring flood behind the Gates upstream. The leats and ditches that criss-crossed the Wood around the that were the fire brakes, and the defensive earthworks and ramparts on this side of the gorge that they had built over years to shelter behind and launch their attack. Spreading the map on the ground, he drew Laegrist, Ceredir and Lagorúthon together below the ramparts and sheltered. Thalos was aware that the noise of fighting had suddenly intensified away towards his left, downstream, and knew that the first Orcs were scrambling up the high, steep banks of the gorge towards them, following Thalos’ retreat. Although the banks and ramparts combined were a hundred feet high in places, and Orcs had not the agility of Elves, they were full of hatred and fueled by malice and wicked glee. They used their axes and daggers as claws to haul themselves up, and there were so many of them, climbing on the corpses of their comrades to get to their hated enemy.</p>
<p>‘This is where we are weakest,’ Thalos said, stabbing his finger down onto the map. ‘And here and here.’  He looked up, his long green eyes sharp. ‘Ceredir, maintain the first defence here. Archers and defenders for hand to hand with any that get this far. Keep them down in that gorge if you can. You have the stone armaments too of course.’ </p>
<p>Ceredir nodded for Thranduil had stored piles of boulders and rocks, ready to tip down upon the Orcs, and barrels of tar that they would set fire to and roll down the cliffs. </p>
<p>Thalos looked up at Laegrist. ‘Your command is to go to the Flood Gate and release it on command. Keep your men deep though and do not spread them thinly. You are nearest the stronghold and so if they break through, your men will need to defend the Gates. Lagorúthon, we will be here.’ He held their gaze, each one, as if weighing his worth. Finally, he looked down thoughtfully and said, ‘We will need to lure as many of them as possible into the gorge. Then we will open the Flood Gates and they will drown. We will kill any of their troops who have made it through our defences.’ He looked at them. ‘Some of them WILL break through.’</p>
<p>Lagorúthon gave him a filthy look that would have been insubordinate had he been anyone else, but the veteran commander had trained every warrior in the army, including Thalos himself. ‘This had better work,’ he said threateningly, gesturing to the chaos of battle above them. No orcs had broken through yet but there was a cacophony of yowls and snarls from the gorge that was seething now with orcs. Crossbow bolts flew from the opposite bank into the elvish ranks, for archers made up a good third of their army and still hovered on the edge of the gorge.</p>
<p>‘Pray it does,’ Thalos rejoined coolly. But Lagorúthon was right to be cautious, he thought. <br/>If Thranduil were here, he would lure them in merely by standing upon the ramparts; they would lose their heads. A plan formed.</p>
<p>He chewed his lip briefly and turned to Laegrist. ‘Send the message up to the Gates to stand by. It is as you say, Lagorúthon.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘There are still too many on the banks. We have to give them something to bring them into the gorge.’</p>
<p>Laegrist shot Thalos a look. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked curtly. </p>
<p>‘I think you know,’ Thalos said, and Laegrist’s eyes widened as he realized what Thalos intended. ‘Do not question me now, old man,’ he said with affection but with a tone that was all his father. ‘Please. I will make them lose their heads and follow.’ He nodded upstream. </p>
<p>‘No!’ Laegrist protested. ‘You will not put yourself at such a stupid and unnecessary risk! ‘</p>
<p>Ceredir leaned forwards too. ‘It does not have to be you,’ he said earnestly. ‘Let me go instead. There is a narrow ledge that runs below the ramparts towards the Gates, lure them where they cannot escape. That is your plan, is it not?’</p>
<p>‘I do not think they will follow for you, Ceredir,’ Thalos said with a smile. ‘They hate me almost as much as they hate Laersul. I think they will lose their heads if they think they can catch me.’</p>
<p>‘I agree,’ Lagorúthon said and Thalos looked at him in surprise. ‘It is stupid and foolhardy and exceptionally dangerous,’ the veteran commander added and then with a gleam of teeth, he added,’ We are Woodelves. It’s what we do best.’</p>
<p>Thalos laughed in surprise. ‘I will be quick, run along the ledge and then hop back over the ramparts before the Flood Gate. I will be back out before they suspect anything, and they will be right in front of the Flood Gate when it opens.’</p>
<p>‘I will go with you,’ Lagorúthon said in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘To cover your back.’ Thalos gave a slight smile and nodded. </p>
<p>‘This is a bad idea,’ Laegrist said. He turned to Ceredir in supplication. ‘Tell our stupid friend that he will be killed. Both of them,’ he added with a venomous look at Lagorúthon. ‘You should know better.’ </p>
<p>Ceredir looked away. ‘My heart misgives,’ he said quietly. ‘But it will draw them in. It is our best chance.’ He stood up and looked up at the ramparts where the archers were frantically shooting and their reserves handing full quivers and taking away empty ones to refill. But further along, he could see Orcs were already struggling over the defences and the archers had drawn their knives for there was no room for swords up here. ‘My troops will cover you,’ he said.</p>
<p>‘Your father will never forgive me,’ Laegrist said turning away.</p>
<p>‘They will follow me,’ Thalos insisted. ‘We must ensure as many as possible in that gorge. Split their forces.’ He turned to Lagorúthon. ‘Come then,’ he said to Lagorúthon, who gave him a scary grin. ‘Let us do this. Laegrist, please dispatch someone to tell Fendir that he has command of Lagorúthan’s troop until his return. And you must watch and judge when to give the order to release the river.’</p>
<p>Wishing no further discussion, Thalos turned away and strode along the top of the ditch, quickly, his long black hair gleaming in the inferno on the opposite bank. Lagorúthon caught up with him.</p>
<p>‘It must look as though you have slipped or something,’ the old commander said. ‘Otherwise, it will be too obviously a trap.’</p>
<p>‘How about you slip, and I go after you?’ Thalos said with a sly smile.</p>
<p>Lagorúthon gave a wry sideways look. ‘No one would believe that,’ he said flatly. </p>
<p>‘The ledge runs about three quarters of the way up along the cliff, a fault line perhaps,’ Thalos told him. ‘As Ceredir says, it runs towards the Gates and we can make our way up when we reach the end,’ he said over his shoulder.</p>
<p>It felt panicked and chaotic up here on the ramparts. </p>
<p>‘Archers! Fire at will!’ Laegrist was shouting. ‘Don’t let them get a foothold! They are breaking through!’</p>
<p>One point of the defensive wall was crumbling. Orcs had made it to the top and were battling their way through the line. The noise was deafening, clashing of steel, shouting, screaming and the ugly jeering of the enemy. Ceredir’s men were rolling great barrels of tar towards the edge. Ceredir held a flaming torch in one hand which he set to a fuse sticking out of the barrel and then quickly the Elves rolled over the edge and into the Orcs below. It bounced down the steep bank and thundered towards the Orcs. As it did so, the fuse caught, and the highly flammable tar caught fire. The barrel exploded at the moment it crashed through the oncoming Orcs, throwing burning tar over the nearest orcs. Fire roared up over them as another and another and another barrel crashed down and exploded. </p>
<p>Too late, Thalos reflected that they should have waited to do this, but the tar did not seem to deter the orcs in any way, and it was not enough to properly resist the hordes seethed and writhed like an anthill in the gorge nor enough to lure in the deep ranks of Orcs waiting on the other side. He needed to bring more of them into the gorge.</p>
<p>Thalos snatched up the standard of the Wood. He leapt up onto the rampart and walked a little way, holding aloft the long green pennant streaming in the wind. ‘For the Wood!’ he cried, looking about at his men and exhorting them to have courage, take heart. ‘For the Wood!’</p>
<p>He was met by answering jeers and catcalls from below and the opposite bank. He stood arrogantly, the pennant in one hand and the other resting on the pommel of his sword, the wind pulling through his long, black hair and he stalked along the parapet so that all could see him. Captain of the East Bight, Thrakagâsh. Fire-bringer. Lagorúthon was close on his heels.</p>
<p>A spear glanced past him, almost shearing the leather sleeve of his armour but he did not move, merely kicked it away as if it was nothing.</p>
<p>‘Is that your best shot?’ he shouted across the gorge.</p>
<p>There was a furious roar from the opposite bank and a hail of spears and bolts. Thalos dived beneath the hail and let himself slide a little way down the cliff to a narrow ledge as they had planned. He was aware of Lagorúthon leaping down to his side as if to rescue him and felt his hand grasped and he was pulled upright.</p>
<p>‘A little too convincing,’ Lagorúthon muttered. ‘Limp, like you’ve been injured.’ </p>
<p>There was a gleeful roar from the Orcs and below, ugly faces looked up in excitement. A gradual movement rippled through as the Orcs lost their concentration and began to move towards the plan Thalos had seemed to fall. There were excited cries from the opposite bank and more Orcs began to clamber down the steep slopes into the gully. There were Orcs running along the riverbed, looking up towards them. They suddenly seemed very near. Thalos touched Lagorúthan’s sleeve and took a deep breath and sent up a quick prayer to Elbereth.</p>
<p>I hope I have not miscalculated, Thalos thought suddenly. He glanced down. The drop was very steep and even an Elf could not keep his footing now. If that ledge had not been there, or he had missed, Orcs would have him by now. </p>
<p>Suddenly there were Wargs. He glanced at Lagorúthon. How had they managed to get down here without impaling themselves on the stakes? He cursed silently; the enemy must have been working on that while he was planning his own escapade! The Wargs could run along the dry riverbed, but they could leap up these cliffs in places too, much more easily that the orcs.</p>
<p>‘Don’t worry about limping,’ Lagorúthon said. ‘Run!’ He grabbed Thalos and shoved him ahead.  They ran along the ledge in the cliff face but dared not go too fast for it was narrow and in places had worn away when the river had been very high. </p>
<p>‘Thrakagâsh! Thrakagâsh!’ It was a harsh, jeering ululation for they thought they had him. The sound filled the gorge and echoed round the sides, they clashed their spears on their shields, shrieking in excitement as the nearest orcs pelted after the two elves, hooting and shouting. A clatter of crossbow bolts and spears followed them as they ran. But more dangerous, five Wargs bounded after them, weaving between the stakes as easily as hunting through the forest. Their yellow eyes were purposeful and hungry.</p>
<p>Thalos heard Laegrist high above on the ramparts, calling orders to his own troop and arrows flew into the pursuing Orcs in the gully. One Warg fell but the others simply weaved more in and out of the stakes, using them now to shield them from arrows. There were fewer and fewer Orcs left upon the ridge now.</p>
<p>‘It’s working!’ Thalos shouted. The clear call of the horn sounded above, the signal to open the Flood Gate.</p>
<p>‘I know it’s working!’ shouted Lagorúthon. ‘Run faster!’</p>
<p>Thalos concentrated on keeping foot on the narrow ledge. The granite had been worn away in places and he had to leap to the next bit, but he was aware that something else was happening above.</p>
<p>A great wind seemed to have suddenly got up. They could hear the shouting of the Orcs but they dared not pause to see what was happening.</p>
<p>Thalos, scrambling madly along the narrow ledge, heard the angry crackle of flames and the trees on the other side thrashed and bowed before a storm that must be coming, the flames were fanned and leapt high into the air, throwing up sparks and cinders. There was a tremendous crash away on the far bank of the gorge and a tall tree, blazing with flames, toppled slowly into the deep gully, crushing orcs as it fell. </p>
<p>‘Get on!’ shouted Lagorúthon and shoved at him. Thalos shook himself ,realizing he had slowed down to see what was happening; the wind, the storm was …there was Power in the Air and he thought of Thranduil.</p>
<p>A snarl sounded behind them and a huge Warg leapt over the heads of the Orcs and bounded towards Thalos and Lagorúthon. It hurled itself up as high as it could get on the cliff, reaching up on its hind legs. Its rider flung a spear at Thalos and it swooshed past his ear. A low roar came from somewhere; not the Warg, not the fire. Upstream.</p>
<p>‘Up there!’ Thalos cried over his shoulder to Lagorúthon, pointing upwards to the clifftop. ‘The river is coming’ Together, he and Lagorúthon hauled themselves upwards, desperate to escape the gorge before the torrent burst upon them. </p>
<p>The low rumble grew louder. Heads turned. A tremor shuddered through the earth and the Elves fought with renewed vigour, throwing spears, firing arrows, forcing the orcs back down the steep ramparts and into the gorge. Goblins chittered and began to scramble back for their senses are far better than Orcs. </p>
<p>Thalos clawed his way up the cracks in the rock. He saw Lagorúthon out of the corner of his eye clambering upwards alongside him. Beneath him, the Warg sprang up again, impossibly high, snapping its strong jaws. </p>
<p>‘Captain!’ It was Fenrir’s anxious face peering into the fissure. The young warrior began to climb down the rock towards them and Thalos suddenly realized Lagorúthon had not kept up with him.</p>
<p>‘Get back up you idiot!’ he shouted to Fenrir and turned to look for Lagorúthon. </p>
<p>Lagorúthon was clinging to the cliff face, his mouth pressed together in pain. Blood spread over his sleeve and below him, a gang of orcs were gleefully climbing upwards. </p>
<p>‘Just go on without me!’ shouted Lagorúthon to Thalos. ‘Save yourself!’</p>
<p>Thalos glared at him and swore in a way that would have shocked even Galion. Ignoring the nobility of his companion, he leaned down and grabbed the pauldron of Lagorúthan’s lamellar armour and hauled him up alongside him. A flight of arrows zipped from above, past Thalos and into the Orcs. The earth rumbled and beneath him, he felt the rock shake, and knew the river had been unleashed and would be crashing towards them.</p>
<p>Rain came then. Sudden and heavy, drenching them and making the rock slippery. But it would swell the river, Thalos knew, and he rejoiced.</p>
<p>He looked upwards, the rain wet on his skin and saw that many hands were reaching down now, and he shoved Lagorúthon higher. Suddenly he felt a hand grip his ankle, another on his boot and another.  Unbearably, impossibly, the orcs had found the way up and were clambering after him. Suddenly there was a swoop of arrows and spears hailed around him, thrusting downwards. Now there was shouting, and he felt himself hauled upwards swiftly and suddenly he was sprawled on the wet and muddy rampart and elves were clambering back up the sides, turning to hurl spears and arrows, rocks, anything to drive the Orcs down.</p>
<p>The rumble grew louder and louder with tremendous speed and became a roar like a dragon was upon them. But it was not a dragon but the river. A towering wall of water, white and foaming, appeared suddenly and crashed into the gorge like a storm. Thalos saw one orc turn its head towards the sound with sudden fear and stare aghast before the roaring wall of water crashed down upon them and swept them away.</p>
<p>Laegrist’s Elves now thrust into the orcs who remained on the ramparts, their knives ripped into the invaders, sliced and cut and slashed with all the anger and fury and fear that had been held in check while their families, their home had been threatened. Blood soaked the churned-up mud and grass, entrails spilled, limbs thrashed. It was brief and brutal. Not an orc was spared. Not an orc escaped though some threw themselves into the churning, roaring river seeing an easier death in the river than with the Elves. </p>
<p>Below Thalos, the river pounded through the gully in roaring fury, tearing rocks and fallen trees and bodies in its wake. Around him, the elves cheered and embraced in the pouring rain, uncaring that they were drenched to the bone. Thalos breathed and fell back against the muddy churned up earth and gazed up at the sky. Rain spattered over his face, but he did not care. it would swell the river, put out the fires, wash away the filth.  He knew that his father had called upon the Wood and harnessed the Power of Air and Wind and Water and it was he who had brought the storm.</p>
<p>‘This will put out the fires too,’ he said to no one.</p>
<p>He hoped his father was safe, and Laersul. Then he thought of Galion and his old friend, Galadhon who fought with Thranduil. Hoping they were all safe, all lived. And that far away in the South, Legolas had found some green glade of trees and was safely resting, away from danger. He thought that his little brother was not.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>0o0o</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Artanis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ontanë: this is the name given Celebrimbor by the Three Elven Rings. It means Creator. Head cannon not Tolkien. In Where the Shadows Lie, this is explored in more detail. More to come on that though -not in this fic, but next one maybe.</p><p>Danedh-Amlung: Dragon’s Ransom. In Black Arrow, Thranduil made a bargain with Smaug and the Danedh-Amlung were men who faced Smaug on behalf of the Wood. ‘Nuff said. Very brave.<br/>
Mearas: In case you have forgotten, the legendary horses of Rohan, like Shadowfax.<br/>
Agannâlo – Nazgul's name for Mirkwood. Literally death-shadow.<br/>
Azgarâzir –The Nazgul's name for Thranduil, whom they hate more than any other ruler for his defence and war against them in Dol Guldur. Although it was the White Council that overthrew Sauron as the Necromancer at the end of The Hobbit, Thranduil it was who continuously fought them. Literally "wage war" cf. azaggara</p><p> </p><p>Unbeta’d as this is an aside from Seven and I need to start No Lord or Loyalty as well. Sigh. I need to not have to work!</p><p>Just to note that I am not strictly adhering to the canon timeline here</p><p>Chapter 6: Artanis<br/>
22nd March</p><p>No longer in the Golden Wood but towards the dark shadowed boughs of Mirkwood, Galadriel galloped upon her stallion, Calarus. In one hand was Nenya and in the other, Archaron, Narvi’s last sword forged deep in Khazad-dûm. Furious that Orcs had dared attack the Golden Wood, HER Wood, she led her army to the slow deep water of the Anduin, sleek, polished, running swiftly over the deep stones, sliding always to the Sea.  Calarus stood hock-deep in the river and Galadriel had lifted Nenya and called upon the River, beloved river, she whispered, entreated, and Nenya pulled at the river like the Moon, thrust the waters apart so it rolled back against itself. Rearing high, higher, twenty, thirty feet and more, the Anduin’s waters rolled back to allow the Lorién army to pass dry-shod beneath a wall of water like green glass topped with foaming white horses with long manes of froth whipping in the wind. The Hithaeglir’s meltwaters churned behind Nenya’s restraining Power. The Elves of Lorién did not hesitate though they stared at the huge wall of water that parted above them. On one side of Galadriel was Celeborn and on the other rode Tolognor, survivor of Nargothrond, and Gwestion of Dor Lómin. Both had come with her over the Ice. </p><p>She had not been so aware of her own body since she had given birth, but the Power that coursed through her was different now; Nenya was part of her and she part of Nenya. Never before had Galadriel felt the consciousness of the Ring in this way, as of Ash Nazg’s proximity had allowed, unlocked something in Nenya too. </p><p>Now, War was upon them and three times the Golden Wood had been attacked. No more. She was taking battle to the Tower. She lifted her hand and Nenya blazed, enveloping her and the horse in a shield of light, and she felt no fear.</p><p>Just fury.</p><p>A bitterly deep fury that burned within her as brightly as Nenya blazed on her hand.</p><p>As bereft, and grief stricken, as enraged and full of bitter hatred as Nenya. For the despoilment of her daughter, and the murder of Ontanë, Celebrimbor, the Creator of Nenya. Together, their contempt for the creations of Sauron knew no bounds and they would be as the breath of dragons, light alarca, lasering through the abominations, incinerating their miserable soulless lives.</p><p>Charging up the eroded, smoothed banks of the Anduin, Galadriel emerged to see that a thick pall of smoke hung over the forest, it was burning somewhere in the East Bight, she thought. And in the North. Behind her, her army marched swiftly, and in perfect order through the darkened forest and their bronze horns sounded a martial call that thrilled her blood. The forest was not ablaze here, and yet there was a yellowish smoke that curled and threaded through the trees, wrapping itself about her Elves. She cast a look over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes, that was no simple smoke. </p><p>She urged Calarus on sharply, so he surged forwards, and the horse’s copper -golden coat gleamed like her own hair. She held Nenya aloft, so the light cut through the coiled smoke like a blade, </p><p>‘Do not try me, Sauron Deceiver!’ she bellowed. Oh, yes, she bellowed, like a bull about to charge, like a Balrog. Manmaiden, she had been named. Nerwen. ‘You will not stand against ME! Where is your captain, Angmar the Slave?’ she challenged. ‘Or does he remember the prophesy and cringe in fear,’ she yelled at the viscous yellow smoke that coiled and squirmed under Nenya’s painful light. ‘No man will slay your king, Angmar. But I am no man!’ And the fury that uncurled and spat from her was unknown to any man. Unmatched. ‘Deceiver, I am coming for you!’</p><p>Nenya flashed with furious anger now and a blade of light sliced through the smoke, so it squirmed and thrashed about like a serpent. </p><p>Calarus charged but Orcs suddenly sprang in front, to the side, trying to catch Calarus’ bridle, to pull her down. A shower of arrows rained upon the Orcs and she swung Archaron, Narvi’s last sword, cut swiftly one side and the other, and then thrust the dwarvish blade into the beast that tried to leap up at her. A spatter of hot blood spurted over her shining mail and she opened her mouth in delight. ‘I will kill you all!’ she screamed.</p><p>She had lost Celeborn in fighting, the shouting, the clash of steel of battle, her men cut through the Orcs, but so many fell. Rumil staggered and fell away to her left, his belly sliced open. Haldir desperately trying to reach him. Where is Celeborn? She turned frantically, unable to see him through the crush of bodies, struggling, fighting. She cut, left right, slash, thrust. The slaughter was terrible, and blood churned into the mud. A Warg had gripped Tolognor and was shaking his by the throat, he flopped like a broken thing and she spurred Calarus at the Warg, hurling Nenya’s Power into the beast. It was thrown into the oncoming Orcish ranks and onto a spear. Yelping horribly, it turned upon the Orcs and ravaged them. Tolognor lay in the bloody mud, unmoving and she stared in disbelief; he had come over the Ice with her. So long ago. With a mere thought she sent men to form a circle around her old friend. </p><p>Even so, she only half heard the clang of steel that was deafening and the shouting of her men, orcs, Wargs. Where was Celeborn? She could still not see him, and the fear of his loss panicked her. She sent out a frantic thought, reaching for him, blindly.</p><p>Suddenly she caught a sense of him, silver and forest green, scent of the Woods in the rain.</p><p>There! And now a huge troll had reared up high over Celeborn, its gaping maw opened over him and the beady eyes glittered in the half light. Immediately, she hurled a whip of balled power into the troll. It was thrown to one side and crashed into the ranks of Orcs below. A Warg yelped as it was crushed and squealed horribly for its back was broken by the troll’s fall.</p><p>She looked up and ahead to see that ahead of her, were the tall, ruined spires and pinnacles of Dol Guldur. Its shadows were dense, tangible. They seemed to move like weeds in a river, and reached for her, sought to catch her to pull her down, down into the darkness.</p><p>‘Come forth, deceiver!’ she cried but it turned into a scream of rage. ‘Coward!’</p><p> Yes, it was Sauron she truly wanted. To tear his blood from bones, to rip out that great lidless Eye. For Finrod, bright, glorious, beautiful Finrod. For her sweet girl, her light-footed, merry child. A pain thrust a fist into her womb, and she forced anger into her veins and breast instead of pain and lifted her hand and channeled all her power in Nenya. She held back the lacerating blade of light, feeling it  charge, feeling the ball of energy gather and build and build, so it became a pulsating, barely containable surge of power. She held the huge glowing ball of light in her hands and felt the tremble in her limbs as she tried to contain it. And then hurled it with all of Nenya’s great force, into the Tower.</p><p>A blast of fiery air came from the Tower and her hair was torn back from her head, streamed in the blast of wind, fanning the flames that leapt and roared towards them. </p><p>I see you.</p><p>From the flames it seemed a man strode, made of fire. Upon his head was a crown and his hand… was empty. An Eye. A great lidless Eye.</p><p>I see you. Artanis. Nerwen, spoken like a taunt. Forgotten. Accursed. Unrepentant.</p><p>A blast of wind ripped tears from her eyes and Calarus staggered under her.</p><p>Depart this place, Sauron jeered at her. </p><p>YOU are not here to defend it, she cried tartly. You are imprisoned, bodiless, formless in your tower in Mordor. </p><p>Nevertheless, it is mine.</p><p>No longer, she threw back and lifting her arms, she hurled the white hot ball of power into the Tower. There was a moment of silence and it seemed almost that the world stood still.</p><p>And then it detonated.</p><p>A boom, below the sounds of the world, unheard but deafening. And then the wind hurtled around the tower, ripping the stones from the foundations. She felt the power build again and again, she held it, held it, channeled it with all her own innate power and strength. And then hurled another into the dark.</p><p>She was oblivious to the battle around her, had no idea if her men fell or were taken or slain. She knew nothing but the obliterating power of Nenya, the terrible symphony that undid the darkness and sorcery that curled about the tower. It began to disintegrate.</p><p>Ooooo</p><p> </p><p>In the East Bight, the wind he had summoned tore at Thranduil’s hair, so it streamed behind him like the flames that leapt to the south and ravaged the Wood. Fire roared through the trees, devouring the rotten, dry forest for in the south the trees had been corrupted and no longer heard the song of the elves. This was a purge.</p><p>Thranduil held the great ribbons of Air curled about his fist, like the reins of a Mearas that obeyed him purely because it wished to. He pulled it gently now for he knew it had done its work in the West, over the Carrock, plunging and tearing through the Forest to where his beloved son had fallen. With his other hand, he had drawn the great thunderheads over the north of the forest, for it was Water needed in the North, to swell and engorge the Forest River, his river. He knew how had boiled and churned at the gates he had closed to check its flow until it was needed. He had felt the answer of the Emyn Duir, for those mountains had not forgotten the Elves and the snow melt water slid in great ice floes into the river and swelled the torrent. </p><p>With a sudden shock he had felt that answering Power once again from the South, but even stronger. Like the moon, he had felt the magnetic pull of Water and the storm came here too. He felt the surge in Power that was coming from the West, the South and suddenly he thought he knew: Lothlorien. Lothlorien too was under attack and had joined him. He felt a mixture of intense irritation and utter relief and was amused at himself nevertheless.</p><p>Above Thranduil, the sky cracked, and the rain came in heavy, drenching torrents.</p><p>Thranduil breathed in and let the Song of the Wood fill him and flow through and around him. He let the great symphony swell through his own battle cry, felt his men look towards him and fill with the fire in his own blood so he, they, all of them felt they could walk through the flames that were devouring the Wood, could sweep away the detritus of Sauron, these mere shades!</p><p>He strode beyond the ranks and out on his own now, deliberately turned his back to the oncoming hordes of Orcs. His men gazed at him in rapture, their wordless Song lifted him, gave him strength ‘Ever have we been the bastion against the Shadow!’ he cried aloud, and the Song amplified his words somehow and his voice filled the clearing, as loud as thunder. ‘Ever have we resisted! Ever have we fought and our friends, our brothers, sons, have paid in blood. We will not give in now! These abominations have no soul. These creatures of Sauron and his minions are but shadows of the Great Foes that we faced in drowned Beleriand! We have faced Balrogs! Dragons! You stand amidst those who are the Danedh-Amlung!’</p><p>He strode along the ranks of his men now and his dwarvish sword was sheathed. Instead he pulled his two knives from the crossed harness of his quiver. There was a breath of anticipation from his watching men for these were entirely Silvan weapons. ‘We are the Wood!’ he cried and as he did he drew one blade along the other in the distinctly Silvan manner. The blades slid along each other like a caress. ‘Na i Tawar!’ he cried again and this time, he clashed his knives against each other, eyes glittering with rage and battle fever.  ‘Na i Tawar,’ they chanted and it grew in power and volume and drowned all other sound. </p><p>He strode up and down their ranks, clashing his knives and a rill of white fire gleamed along the blades. ‘We have Summoned the Wood!’ He clashed his blades again and this time, his men, his waiting army followed him and the metallic shriiiiinnnnnnnggggg of their own knives like scythes through grass, cut through the Song itself. </p><p>The Orc army had already shuddered to a hesitant nervous halt, looking upwards at the sky that had cracked open with lightning and drenching rain, and around themselves at the raging forest. There was a roar ahead of them and then like Sea, the Wood elves broke upon them.</p><p>0o0o</p><p>Next chapter: The Meeting. Celeborn and Thranduil meet under the trees.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Towards Dol Guldûr</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chronology</p>
<p>25th March was also the Battle of the Morannon. Barad-dûr falls, the Ring is destroyed.<br/>28th March- Celeborn crosses Anduin, destruction of Dol Guldur begun.[8<br/> April 6 - Meeting of Celeborn and Thranduil. <br/>(Note: Although Tolkien only notes that the Battle Under the Trees started on 15th March, he gives no more detail, and I cannot believe such a battle would be one day only. So, I have not stuck exactly to what is in Tolkien but hope this improves rather than detracts.)</p>
<p>Gystalya: Thranduil’s sword. Made by the Dwarves of Erebor as recompense for Orcrist, which he returned to Thorin after the Battle of the Five Armies.</p>
<p>Chapter 7: Towards Dol Guldûr</p>
<p>25th March.</p>
<p>Deep in slaughter, Thranduil hacked gracelessly at the faces before him, ugly with hatred, mouths agape with battle cries. The wicked serrated edge of the Orcs’ cutlasses sheared the edge of his own armour and he knew without stopping, without looking, the leather was deeply scored and in places, weakened. Beneath his feet the ground was slippery. Rain, mud and blood churned up together in the dreadful killing, and it was not only Orcish bodies that slid away in the mud as he fought on. He tried not to look at Elfaron’s still and lifeless body as it rolled away beneath his feet.</p>
<p>The rain had not ceased all day and it weighed down the Orcs more than it did the Elves for the Orcs were heavy footed and heavily armoured. They moved even more clumsily, slowly pushed back by the Elves as the day wore on.</p>
<p>Thranduil dodged the axe of a huge Uruk but he only avoided the heavy steel edge because the Uruk slipped in the wet mud, and Thranduil got away with a slight nick to his arm as he leapt away. Gystela clanged against the second swipe of the axe, and for a moment, the reverberation threatened to shake loose the sword from Thranduil’s grip but the Uruk’s snarling triumph suddenly changed to shock and it slowly toppled over. A dagger stuck out of the back of its neck and Gilvaren reached down to pull it out. </p>
<p>‘Growing careless, Oropherion,’ Gilvaren said wryly. ‘That Power in your veins cannot sustain us forever.’</p>
<p>‘And yet I will call upon it again and again, until I am depleted and spent and still I will fight on until I have no breath left in my body and no fire in my veins and even then, my Houseless spirit will fight on,’ Thranduil said defiantly. ‘As will you.’ He clasped his old friend’s arm briefly and looked him in the eye. ‘Promise me, Gil, if I fall, you will lead them on. Lead us to victory.’</p>
<p>‘Do not speak of it,’ Gilvaren said grimly even as a huge troll crashed through the trees to the forest floor, an elven arrow through its small, mean eye.</p>
<p>‘Gil, you must keep them going if I do.’ Thranduil insisted. ‘None of us is invincible. None of us immune.’ </p>
<p>Gilvaren looked away but Thranduil shook him gently. At last, Gilvaren nodded grudgingly. ‘Very well. But you will not fall.’ He glanced around at the slaughter and snarling, shifting battle. ‘You cannot.’</p>
<p>‘I have no intention of doing so.’ Thranduil grinned. He turned and leapt upon the twitching body of the troll and he cried out over the heads of the struggling, fighting warriors of the Wood, over the heads of their cringing enemies, ‘Fight on, fight on my friends! We will fight on until the bitter end! Until the Ending of the World if we must!’ He whirled his silvan knives in his hands.  </p>
<p>A half-hearted crossbow bolt shot towards him and he flashed his blades, batting away the bolt as if it were a fly. He grinned scarily at the Orc that had shot it for a dozen Woodelves were already upon the miserable creature, a scythe of flashing steel and its head was lobbed up to Thranduil’s feet. He kicked it cheerfully away and his men roared with approval for their blood thundered through their veins, rushed through their ears, pounding even as they charged the oncoming hordes of Orcs. </p>
<p>‘Get down off there, you fucking idiot!’ shouted Galion, leaping up and shoving Thranduil down off the troll’s corpse. ‘Do you want them to get you this time?’</p>
<p>Thranduil grinned. ‘We are winning,’ he said arrogantly. </p>
<p>‘Well let’s hope you live long enough to see victory,’ Galion snapped nastily. ‘No more showing off. Keep your head down and think of Legolas.’ </p>
<p>It was like a bucket of cold water to Thranduil. He took a breath. </p>
<p>‘There is only one thing we can do to help him now,’ Galion continued grumpily. ‘Beat these ugly sons of a Valar, and make Sauron send more for us to kill. Might give Legolas a chance of creeping in under their noses.’</p>
<p>Thranduil caught at Galion’s sleeve. ‘Do you think….’ </p>
<p>Galion snorted. ‘As you have so often said, my lord,’ he said sarcastically. ‘I do not think.’ But then he looked Thranduil in the eye firmly. ‘But I always know,’ he said emphatically. ‘And Legolas lives. He fights alongside us even if he is in another country, another man’s kingdom.’ </p>
<p>Gilvaren was suddenly beside them and they broke off for none but they knew the secret quest, and Laersul. Gilvaren wrestled his knife against an Orc’s sabre and Galion zipped a knife across its small, mean eyes and it screamed and clutched its face, collapsing to the ground. Thranduil finished it off. </p>
<p>‘We are winning,’ Gilvaren echoed Thranduil’s earlier thought. ‘Sauron has forgotten what a wily old fox you are.’ He grinned at Thranduil, blood smeared over one cheek and mud on the other. ‘He has overreached himself.’ He paused to throw off a goblin that was slashing wildly. Galion stabbed it in the ears and Thranduil cut its throat. Gilvaren nodded and Galion had plunged eagerly into a knot of orcs that were fighting Galadhon. </p>
<p>‘Sauron has overstepped himself with his assault on so many fronts,’ Gilvaren continued, fighting back-to-back with Thranduil now. They continued conversationally, over their shoulders. ‘Erebor, Dale, Gondor. Lothlorien. He has overestimated his strength.’ </p>
<p>‘He expends too much in Gondor perhaps. Khamûl would have come by now if he were here,’ Thranduil agreed. He paused to kick and stab a goblin that had run towards him. ‘And he is no great strategist. Always fights on too many fronts, relies of dividing his enemies to prevent another Dagorlad.’ He plunged his sword into the back of a nearby Uruk that had not noticed he was so close to the King.</p>
<p>Gilvaren grunted, clashing swords with an ugly goblin that grinned with its pointed teeth until Thranduil sliced its head off with Gystela. ‘We do not know how Gondor fares,’ he said, breathing hard. ‘Or Erebor for that matter.’ He fended off two vicious looking Orcs and had to stop talking for a while whilst they both fought.  A moment later, he continued, ‘If we alone are victorious, it will not be long before he comes after us again.’</p>
<p>‘Then let us make sure we have depleted his forces enough to make him think twice,’ Thranduil insisted, but he knew Gilvaren was right: they had been fighting for many days and his men were on the edge of exhaustion, and they did not yet know if Dol Guldûr had spewed out all its forces or it retained some yet that would be deployed soon.</p>
<p>Then something happened. A low rumble shuddered through the Earth.<br/>Like a hammer had struck a huge bronze bell, a sound pulsed through the World. And everything slowed as if Arda held her breath. The Elves as one, turned their faces eastwards. Orcs and trolls turned too, but where the Elves were wonderous and awed, their faces were afraid.<br/>The One Ring lay upon a bed of molten lava, melting. And was gone. <br/>The dark note that was Sauron was unravelling over the ash fields of the Morannon, streaming away in the wind like ink in water. Another deep shudder came through the Earth, a seismic shift as if Arda herself were awakening and sighing, as if she were free of something at last<br/>From the East, Thranduil heard a ripple of sound spiralling outwards across the World, wider and wider. The Song of the World was changing: huge and infinite, it lifted and curled, swelling with soaring chords that surged and wheeled upwards into a crescendo.</p>
<p>Thranduil thought of it breaking like huge silver waves over and through the diseased forest, washing it clean and whole again. He realised that Galion was beside him again, clutching his arm in astonished wonder and was gazing upwards. </p>
<p>'They've done it,' Galion whispered. 'They've done it! Sauron is gone. I can feel it.’</p>
<p>Every Elf stood astonished, breathless, elated, whilst around them, the Orcs and goblins faltered and stumbled to a halt, staring around them as if they had just awoken from some dream. Slowly realizing that they had lost their purpose, their leader, the war, the goblins were the first to run, hurrying through the diseased and rotten trees, stumbling over the roots that twisted and coiled. For once, the Elves did not pursue them for they were too lost in wonder.</p>
<p>‘What does this mean?’ Galadhon asked and Thranduil saw that he voiced the question that was in most of their minds for they could not know what this meant.</p>
<p>‘Sauron is gone!’ he cried in response. ‘He is vanquished. Barad-dûr has fallen. I have seen it! The Nazgûl have been snatched into the Dark! The Wood is free!’</p>
<p>A triumphant ululation burst from a group of Elves, laughing and hugging each other in glee. Others joined, and then more and more voices. When the thunder cracked loudly overhead, Thranduil shouted aloud in joy and relief, his voice joining that of his Elves. Thranduil saw that Gilvaren was clinging to Galion, their faces wet with rain and tears for the overwhelming relief was more than any of them could truly bear. Around him, his warriors found their own way to celebrate; some simply collapsed, kneeling in the mud and praying, thanking Eru, a few youngsters ran about, leaping and sliding through the puddles and from sheer delight.</p>
<p>That is what Legolas would do, Thranduil thought. And Anglach.</p>
<p>The rain became a torrential downpour that drenched the Woodelves, so their hair slicked against their skulls and their armour was washed clean, their faces shone with triumph.</p>
<p>Aerglin, who had found Thranduil when he fell, was running around in circles, slowly, leaping and splashing through the puddles and shouting his triumph. Silarôs, who had been captured when Smeagol was released but rescued by Laersul and returned when they could not save Naurion or Anglach, thought Thranduil, ran and leapt at Aerglin, bringing him down into the mud where they wrestled or embraced or, who knew. Thranduil did not care. </p>
<p>‘We did it! We did it!’ shouted Galadhon. He was laughing and tears were running down his face and then he sobered, and kneeling down in the mud, he stroked the hair away from Elfaron’s dead face, closed his eyes gently. </p>
<p>Suddenly Galion was beside Thranduil. ‘Bastard Manwë’s fault for letting Sauron to wriggle out of his grasp after the War of Wrath,’ he shouted and shook his fist up to the sky. ‘If you had behaved better,’ he addressed the markedly absent Power, ‘we would not have spent all those lives, all those miserably years and years fighting …’<br/>He seemed to have acquired a flask of something dangerously alcoholic and swigged at it liberally. He met Thranduil’s eye.  ‘We will pull down Dol Guldûr,’ he said simply, ‘For Anglach.’ </p>
<p>Thranduil nodded. ‘For Anglach.’ </p>
<p>0o0o</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thranduil divided his elven host; some he left with Gilvaren in the East Bight to repair the hillfort, for he was too canny to abandon a defence just because one enemy was defeated. Others he left under Silarôs’ command, to gather their dead to take them home, a sorrowful duty but honouring their fallen comrades. Galadhon, with the bulk of the host, he sent to pursue Orcs and goblins and to kill as many as they could so that they could not live another day to attack the Elves or return to the Mountains to attack unwary travelers. Thranduil himself rode to Dol Guldûr, to see what state the Nazgûl’s fortress was in and, as Galion said, to winkle out that old rust bucket, Khamûl. But Thranduil did not believe the Nazgul had remained in Dol Guldûr whilst Mordor itself was besieged. Galion’s old brown mare ambled alongside Thranduil’s grey stallion, nipping bad-temperedly at any horses who got too close. Much like Galion himself.</p>
<p>They rode from the East Bight along the wide track that Sauron’s army had ploughed straight through the forest. They were in the deep southern reaches of the Wood, travelling towards the hill upon which was the enemy’s fortress, Dol Guldûr. Thranduil’s old home. He felt no nostalgia though, for those ancient days when the Elves had dwelled upon Amon Lanc, and sunlight dappled the forest floor gold-green. These trees on either side of the track had rotted, and the air was stale and silent. Deep shadows and darkness extended on either side of the track, seemingly forever and it felt like they had entered a different world from their own. This is Mirkwood, he thought, looking up at the thick, dark vines that twisted through the trees like they were strangling them. This was not a living forest; this was like some graveyard; some parody of the Wood and he was aware of the silence of his own men and knew they were thinking the same. The closer we draw to our old home, he realised, the sadder it is. We do not want to live here again, he thought suddenly. </p>
<p>They were half a day’s march from Dol Guldûr when Thranduil felt a tremendous swell of Power surge through the forest like a detonation. There was no sound, not at first, just an implosion, as if all sound had been sucked inwards towards Dol Guldur. And then there was a mighty crack, and the forest floor trembled. The horses tossed their heads and shied and the Elves looked at the ground in horror, but no great chasms opened beneath their feet, no shudder in the Earth followed. </p>
<p>‘Is this some last treachery of the Nazgul?’ Galion turned to Thranduil with wide eyes.</p>
<p>Thranduil shook his head slowly. ‘I do not think so. Do you feel the Power in the air? It is…’ He tried to find words. ‘It is what I felt before, when we summoned the Wood.’</p>
<p>Galion looked at him astonished. ‘Do you think it is the Wood itself?’</p>
<p>‘No, this is something less natural,’ Thranduil said a little caustically and now he knew for sure. ‘This is Galadriel, I think. It feels… Noldo.’ He could not quite help the note of disgust and contempt in his voice; they would never forget Doriath. They would never forgive. Nor Sirion. It did not matter that she was there or not, deeds done by her people. Noldor.</p>
<p>It seemed Galion thought the same for he opened his mouth to speak but Thranduil hushed him quickly. ‘We are rather close to be expressing any strong views,’ he muttered cautiously. ‘You never know if she might be…listening.’ And that shut Galion up. For a little while at least.</p>
<p>Suddenly Aerglin pointed upwards and cried out, ‘Look! Stars! A meteor shower!’</p>
<p>It was not a meteor shower, Thranduil saw. But great chunks of molten rock exploding into the sky.</p>
<p> Ferendir turned and called out to Thranduil, ‘My lord! Shall I go ahead and see if it is safe?’</p>
<p>‘Certainly not,’ Thranduil said sharply. ‘I will do that.’ Then he added, a little less irritably, You may follow if you wish.’</p>
<p>0o0o</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Meeting Under the Trees</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So sorry for the LOOONNNGG delay- I really thought I had this finished but Celeborn wanted his voice heard so I ended up deleting a load of scenes and writing new ones. Hope it’s worth the wait. Final chapter should be out soon.</p>
<p>Chronology<br/>15th March: Woodelves attacked. Battle Under The trees<br/>                       Battle of Pelennor Fields<br/>17th March: Battle of Dale- Brand and Dain both fall. Men and Dwarves hide in the Mountain- besieged by Easterlings.<br/>22nd March: 3rd assault on Lothlorien<br/>25th March: The Ring destroyed<br/>27th March: Bard II and Thorin III Stonehelm drive Easterlings off.<br/>28th March: Celeborn crosses the Anduin and begins the destruction of Dol Guldur.<br/>6th April: Celeborn and Thranduil meet.<br/>8th April: Frodo and Sam are honoured on the Field of Cormallen</p>
<p>*Naurion: one of the Elves who was guarding Gollum when Orcs attacked and freed him. Naurion was one of the guards ‘taken or slain’ that Legolas describes at the Council of Elrond. Another was Anglach, Legolas’ best friend and fosterling of Thranduil. (See More Dangerous, Less Wise for this episode and Black Arrow for more of Anglach.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Especially for Ao3, Appassensofhumour, Keekercatt, Golden, paradis_artificiles, Rosenthorne, chasingbluefish, Naledi, firstamazon, Guest, and ffnet (God, what have they done to their website with all those horrible, intrusive adverts!!) but lovely reviewers who have hung in there: Nina, Guest, earthdragon, jaeden1112( and when you both get here, Nurayy and Rumiel </p>
<p>Chapter 8: Meeting under the trees</p>
<p>Thranduil sat on a fallen log reading the messages brought from the North by one of his own King’s Messengers, Alagos. Alagos had caught up with them as they rested the horses and now, he could hear the messenger bickering with Galion not far away. Thranduil sighed irritably and tried to ignore them, but a number of his men were watching the argument surreptitiously and had money on the outcome. Thranduil knew that Galion would win. He always did, he cheated at cards, played dirty in a fight and was never averse to a low blow in an argument. </p>
<p>Thranduil did not listen to them but ripped the seal away from Thalos’ letter first. Brief and succinct, Thalos reported that they had successfully repelled the forces that had attacked the stronghold with little loss of life but great ruin to the forest. Thranduil glanced up and observed the twisted black trees of what was truly Mirkwood and thought that at least in his own part of the forest, the trees would recover. He did not know what would be needed for this dismal place to heal.</p>
<p>He looked back down at the letter in his hand and read Thalos’ firm, rounded hand: ‘I have sad tidings too, Ada. Tidings have come that King Brand has fallen defending his city. His people have been forced to abandon Dale and taken refuge in Erebor. You will be grieved to hear that Dain too has fallen defending Brand’s body.’</p>
<p>Thranduil sat in silence for a moment and stared upwards unseeingly. It was Daín who had given him Gystalya in recompense for Orcrist which Thranduil had laid upon Thorin Oakenshield’s tomb, and it grieved Thranduil that he had lost such an ally. He ran one hand over his head and wished he had ridden to Erebor instead of taking the fight to Dol Guldur. He read on: ‘Erebor is under siege by an army from the Eastern lands as well as Orcs. Ada, I am leading a force now to Erebor to help break the siege and trust that you will have victory by the time this message finds you. Take care, Ada, and make sure Galion comes home in one piece too. Your loving son, Thalos.’</p>
<p>The paper fluttered loosely in Thranduil’s hands and he bowed his head. It was necessary, he knew, and he knew as well that Thalos was right in what he did. But oh, did he have to keep sending his sons into battle!</p>
<p>The second letter was from Laegrist, who gave him the full account of the battle in the north and told him of Thalos’ gallantry and daring, how he had tricked the enemy into the gully and shown such leadership that Thranduil’s heart swelled with fear and pride.</p>
<p>There were other letters too, more ordinary and less pressing but the one he had pressed against his heart was the briefest. It was from Laersul but not in his own hand. It said only this: I know you will be anxious to hear that I live but you can see I cannot write just now. Suffice to say that we have held the western reaches. Beorn and his folk came when it was most needful. I love you, father, and trust that Galion will keep you safe.<br/>Your son,<br/>Laersul.</p>
<p>It was smudged with rust-brown that Thranduil knew was blood. He hoped it was not Laersul’s.  </p>
<p>But they live, he reminded himself again. They live and that is more than I ever dared hope. If I could but have word of Legolas, I will be content.</p>
<p>He was one amongst many who seized the chance to scribble notes to loved ones to give to Alagos before he departed, returning north with a clutch of letters, including several from the King, and two from Galion.</p>
<p>0o0o</p>
<p> </p>
<p>April 5th</p>
<p>By the time they drew close to Dol Guldur, it was Mettarë, the Last Day of the year. Suitably, thought Thranduil. In the North of the Wood, the earth would be awakening and shaking off the slumber of winter. There were no birds here in the South, and no thrill of green along the branches, or fat buds bursting into leaf. </p>
<p>They rode on with the standards of the Oak and Stag of the Wood now cleaned of blood and mud and streaming green and gold and white, fluttering in the wind for the rain had finally ceased. Following the track that had been gouged by the enemy straight through the forest, blasted through the great ancient trees, Thranduil expected to see Dol Guldur’s grim spires and parapets rising up over the dead trees like bloody talons, but still, there was no sign.</p>
<p>He felt a strange hard knot in his chest. This was Amon Lanc, where he had run as a child. It was where Oropher had sat and thrown his head back laughing, the sunlight catching his golden hair as if the sun itself loved him, for who could not? And his great, joyful laugh resounding through the glades of the Wood. It had been a beautiful place then but now the rotten and diseased forest creaked ominously, and great black vines crept through the trees, slowly strangling them. This is not home, he thought. This is Mirkwood.</p>
<p>They emerged unexpectedly and abruptly from the dark and heavy trees. And stopped in wonder.</p>
<p>Once, long, long ago in far Beleriand, Oropher had taken his small son to see it where a meteor had fallen in a forest in the far North. Thranduil had stood with his small hand in his father’s large, capable hand, staring at the trees lying flat, hundreds, their tops pointing away from the crater in concentric circles.</p>
<p>It was like that now.</p>
<p>An eerie silence lay over the devastated, flattened land; the trees had fallen outwards, and a crater appeared where the bare hill upon which Dol Guldur had been. The spires, the parapets and the great jagged finger of the tower was no longer there. Instead, it seemed the earth had erupted, and exploded, spewed and vomited up the chiseled granite and sculpted blocks of obsidian that had made the tower. For scattered amongst the fallen trees were huge blocks of masonry, and it seemed the Tower had truly fallen.  </p>
<p>A murmur of consternation and awe rippled through the company of Woodelves but Thranduil silenced them with a thought for there was movement ahead, a glitter of light on the steel of swords, spears. Instantly Ferendir had his own men surrounding the King, and weapons drawn. There was the creak of bows and arrows fitted but Thranduil flung up a hand to hold their fire, waiting, listening…</p>
<p>And then it came, a warmth stole over him, a breath of wonder like a perfume. </p>
<p>Welcome, child of the North. Your coming is as the arrival of victory.</p>
<p>Here was the source of the Power that had aided them in their time of great need. Here was Galadriel. It was her men they could see upon the ruins of Dol Guldur.</p>
<p>He was intensely irritated at first and then intensely pleased and could not work out which he felt more; relief that his sons and their children would no longer spend their lives in blood upon the spears and arrows and spikes of the enemy, and annoyance that Celeborn had allowed his wife to do what Thranduil had wanted to do, that he actually was looking forward to doing. </p>
<p>And then he laughed at himself. Fool, he told himself and it seemed to be it was his father’s voice that spoke. Look at what she has done and be glad that it has spared you much trouble! There was a great leap of joy in his chest, and he marvelled at what Lothlorien had achieved and resolved he would not begrudge them any of their dues.</p>
<p>‘Aran, riders!’ Ferendir warned and a troop of grey horses and riders hoved into view. They bore the standard of Lothlorien, which whipped out behind them, and with a breath, the Woodelves sheathed their weapons and watched the approach of the newcomers. </p>
<p>Thranduil eyed the Lorién elves obliquely, sensing their own curiosity about their Northern kin. They were strange to him, mostly pale-haired, pale skinned. They were dressed outlandishly, he thought, not in the traditional lamellar armour of the Silvans but in the heavy steel armour of the Noldor. But, he reasoned, they had come to bring down the Tower and for that I must give due regard. The Elves of the two Woods, the Green and the Gold stared at each other with undisguised curiosity.</p>
<p>‘Aran!’ cried the leader of the troop. ‘Lothlorien greets you and bids you welcome to our camp where the Lady and Lord Celeborn await you.’ Celeborn’s herald was tall, fair haired and with an insouciant arrogance that irritated Thranduil instinctively, but he quashed it. He noted that no name was needed for Galadriel, of course, but that Celeborn needed naming. As if Thranduil did not know who was the Lord of Lothlorien! he thought grumpily. The rider pointed beyond the ruined tower. ‘The Lady awaits you on the Loeg Nimrodel, where our beloved river meets the great Anduin, beyond the eaves of Mirkwood for the forest here is, as you can see, inhospitable.’</p>
<p>‘You have the advantage,’ Thranduil said coolly, ignoring both the invitation and the name of HIS beloved Wood, even though he had named this part Mirkwood in his own mind. That didn’t count, he decided. ‘You have my name. I do not have yours.’ He looked imperiously at the man, who blushed, and his eyes darted to the side in humiliation. </p>
<p>‘Forgive me, Aran. We are the Marchwardens of the Golden Wood. My name is Haldir Daerion.’</p>
<p>‘And presumably your lord also awaits our coming, as well as your Lady?’ Thranduil said pointedly. ‘Unless he is injured?’</p>
<p>Haldir had the grace to look sheepish enough to satisfy Thranduil and so he nodded his acquiescence and rode deliberately to the fore of the procession, allowing the Lorién elf to accompany HIM rather than the other way around. This was, after all, still HIS forest. He could feel the warmth of Galion’s approval from here and was aware of the hidden smiles of his own men who were pleased that propriety was restored.</p>
<p>‘We are glad to see you, Aran,’ said Haldir, suitably unctuous now that the proper order was established. ‘Battle was long and hard here, as I can see the same was for your men also. Have you news from the North?’ He was wary now. </p>
<p>Thranduil allowed himself to be gracious now. ‘We have driven them from the Wood,’ he replied as they rode forwards along the path that Haldir had come. ‘My own company secured the East Bight and my sons have secured the Carrock and the Northern Wood. </p>
<p>‘Your sons?’ Haldir glanced at him in genuine surprise. </p>
<p>Thranduil turned towards him, his own curiosity piqued. ‘Laersul, my oldest and commander of our forces, and Thalos, Captain of the East Bight.’ he said brusquely for he could not trust himself to speak of Legolas to this stranger who would not understand. </p>
<p>‘Of course, Aran,’ Haldir said smoothly. Then he seemed to hesitate and cast a glance at Thranduil, as if he might say more but he turned back towards the trail.</p>
<p>Thranduil frowned but he was soon distracted by the sight of Dol Guldur and the devastation that it now was.</p>
<p>It had been many years since Thranduil had been close enough to even see the fortress, for it was far too dangerous a place for the Elves to come except in times of extreme need, such as when Laersul had pursued the Orcs that had taken Naurion*. The hill upon which the tower had been built still rose up steeply out of the land but now, closer, there seemed to be a crater where Dol Guldur had once been and the granite and basalt rocks that had built the edifice were blasted into rubble. It was a devastation indeed and he could not help but feel awed at the power that had achieved this. Surely Galadriel had not done this on her own? Surely her army had pulled it to its very foundations?</p>
<p>‘The Lady pulled down the Tower,’ Haldir said with reverence as if he knew Thranduil’s thoughts. ‘Dol Guldur had assaulted our home three times, and she would not countenance it any longer. She summoned us to cross the river, which she held back so we rode over the dry riverbed.’ In his voice was wonder and Thranduil could not help but share it. ‘Then she rode at the front of our charge to the very gates and blasted them open. We could not see for the brightness. The explosion that brought the tower down, the towers and walls themselves could not withstand her. The blast shook the trees from their roots as you see.’ He indicated the fallen trees with wonder.</p>
<p>‘She will ever have my gratitude,’ Thranduil said sincerely, thinking that he had underestimated her after all. A bit of him wished he had seen it. ‘Too many of my people have found torment and death here. No more.’</p>
<p>0o0o</p>
<p>Celeborn sat in a folding chair near his wife’s bed, watching her as she slept. She was so pale still, as if the wreaking of her vengeance upon Dol Guldur had drained her of all her being, all her spirit. And perhaps it had. Her hair had been braided and lifted from her neck to keep her cool and he wiped a cloth with water from the Nimrodel over her face. It seemed nothing was too much to ask the Galadhrim if it was for their Lady, he thought, a little acerbically and then checked himself. He could not blame them; had she not pushed back the tides of the Anduin to allow them to pass between dry-shod? And demolished the fortress of Dol Guldûr single-handed, bringing an end to its tyranny? </p>
<p>No. Not single-handed, he corrected himself bitterly. Nenya had made all that possible. One of the Three Rings made by Celebrimbor. Nenya, Seeker of Curvë, Power. Nenya suited Galadriel, completed her as Celeborn could not. </p>
<p>A gentle breeze lifted the white silk of the pavilion and caressed them both, a west wind with the scent, perhaps, of the Sea for she stirred and murmured, and the words were not Sindarin. </p>
<p>‘Hush,’ he said softly, smoothing his own thoughts so that he soothed her too. ‘Sleep. I will watch.’</p>
<p>One strong white hand slipped from the sheets and in sorrow for all they had once shared, and lost, he cradled it gently, seeing the blue veins beneath the skin, the bones of her hands. Nenya hung loosely on her finger, depleted, as if it too were exhausted for its adamantine glitter was dull and had lost the depth of colour. </p>
<p>He stared at the Ring, hating it even though the truth was that without Nenya, they would truly have been vanquished themselves. He did not deny the beauty, the crafty cleverness of the work, the depth of the jewel, the light.  The Power within the Ring.</p>
<p>He thought for a moment; the Power that had been unleashed against Dol Guldur was unlike anything he had seen. Previous assaults upon them had not released this. Something had changed, he thought, tilting his head slightly to regard Nenya. Was it that Ash Nazg had touched the purity of the stone of Nenya? But Galadriel had resisted, denied it.</p>
<p>She said.</p>
<p> For a moment, he wondered what would happen if he took Nenya…if he cast the Ring into the Sea. Would he regain his own Nerwen? Would the woman he loved return to him?</p>
<p>Disaster and ruin, whispered a voice. All will be lost. The Dark will win.</p>
<p>Celeborn stared, his skin was cold at the words, for he knew this was Nenya. Suddenly he wanted to shake Galadriel awake, to rip Nenya from her hand and cast it into the ruins of the Tower, the crater, bury it deep. </p>
<p>Sauron is vanquished, he replied. You will fade and Galadriel will remain.</p>
<p>We will not fade. Our Time has come…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>0o0o</p>
<p>Long hours passed and Galadriel did not awaken. But there was movement outside the pavilion, perhaps one of the Marchwardens with news of their Northern kin? He hoped it was so and his heart suddenly leapt with joy that it might even be Thranduil himself who would come. He longed to see his cousin’s child for he had loved Oropher, his great booming laugh, his joy and effervescence, his sheer presence. Celeborn’s hand went automatically to the inside pocket of his tunic where a flattened, much folded letter was pressed against his heart. </p>
<p>‘Just in case,’ Legolas had said pressing it into Celeborn’s hand. ‘Just in case you should ever have the chance to send it or give it to my father.’ And the hope and love in the boy’s eyes had overwhelmed Celeborn and he had pulled Legolas into his embrace like he would have his sweet boy, Elladan or his dear, tormented Elrohir, and hugged Legolas as his father would have done had he been there, as he would have wanted.</p>
<p>Having checked the letter was safely tucked away, Celeborn went out into the Spring sunshine and smelled the earth; the new grass was pushing upwards, birdsong drenched the air, and he was exhilarated. Spring was here. Sauron was vanquished. Aragorn was the new King of Men. And he hoped, how he hoped, his beloved boys were safe, Elrohir and Elladan. </p>
<p>‘My lord! Aran Thranduil approaches,’ Darion, one of his own Marchwardens, was trotting towards him, breathless and excited. ‘Haldir sent me ahead but they are close for the Aran rides fast and is keen to see you.’</p>
<p>Celeborn felt the Song surge through him and knew that Thranduil was already here. There was an excitement on the wind and a thrill ran through the warm Spring air. Tremulous whinnying burst from their own horses grazing on the banks of the river and he found his feet moving of their own volition towards the perimeter of the camp. Others were doing likewise and soon the whole camp was running eagerly and shouting in anticipation for the Woodelves were suddenly in view and the banner of Oak and Stag was raised high and streamed behind them. Their horses cantered or galloped in an unseemly, disordered chaos, careering across the green sward towards the Lorién camp, waving and hollering their greetings for the two peoples had been so long sundered by Dol Guldûr.</p>
<p>Celeborn’s voice joined the cries of joy and welcome of the Galadhrim as the Woodelves converged upon the camp, and he lifted his face to the sun and laughed. How like Oropher was his son! Oropher who never followed rules, who fretted against any order and who had been so rebellious in Doriath that Thingol had despaired of his brilliant, scintillating kinsman and vowed he was well rid when Oropher left and joined the Green Elves of Ossiriand, and it was true that Doriath was more peaceful without him. And less exciting, less colourful. His heart sang and he strode out to meet the child of his dear friend whom he missed with an aching intensity. </p>
<p>One horse was stretching out in a gallop, the sunlight gleamed upon the golden hair of its rider. Behind him streamed the rest of the company of Woodelves and the accompanying Marchwardens, Haldir amongst them looking put out and struggling to keep his own horse in check though Celeborn wondered why he bothered for everyone else was galloping and laughing and singing. Celeborn laughed and opened his arms wide as the leading rider swung from his horse mid-gallop and landed upon his feet without a stumble or misstep and was striding towards Celeborn with the same ecstatic expression on his lovely face, disbelief, elation, fierce expectation. Celeborn’s heart was suddenly full as if it were Oropher himself he was greeting here beneath the trees. </p>
<p>This could only be Thranduil. The sculpted profile, full lips and slate green eyes were all Oropher. Perhaps more serious than Oropher but for now, full of emotion. They fell into each other’s arms, laughing and hugging each other in joy and relief.</p>
<p>‘It is true?’ Thranduil asked first as if he still could not quite believe it. ‘Sauron has fallen?’</p>
<p>Celeborn smiled and shook his head slightly in shared disbelief. ‘Yes. I cannot quite believe it either.’ He pulled back and looked into the noble and handsome face that was so like his old friend. ‘Ah, it is a good day!’ he cried. Then he saw the anxiety and doubt in Thranduil’s eyes and said reassuringly, ‘Galadriel has seen Barad-dûr’s fall too, and she says that Mithrandir had victory too.’</p>
<p>‘Mithrandir?’ Thranduil could not keep the hope out of his voice. ‘Did she see…did she see anything else? Anyone?’</p>
<p>Celeborn could not bear this father’s hope and answered truthfully, ‘She has not spoken much beyond that, my dear boy. She is exhausted. As you can imagine, this was hard on her.’ He glanced at Thranduil briefly and gave a tight smile. ‘The expense of Power like this, drains one. It always leaves her….’ He hesitated. How could he explain the toll this had taken upon her, the exhaustion that left her grey and cold, as if she were dead. ‘Strained. She will join us when she is recovered.’</p>
<p>‘Of course,’ Thranduil said and was about to speak but Celeborn felt the letter against his heart.</p>
<p>‘I have news,’ he smiled for he knew what this would mean for Thranduil. ‘Your son, Legolas passed through the Wood. He was amongst the company that bore the One Ring to Mordor as you know. They stopped here to rest,’ Celeborn said with compassion for he understood all too well the anguish of a father’s love. ‘He was unharmed. He left just as we passed into Echuir.’</p>
<p>Thranduil’s eyes flicked up and fixed upon Celeborn as if his heart had stopped.  ‘Seven weeks ago? He was here? In Lothlorien I mean. Seven weeks. He was unharmed?’</p>
<p>‘I have a letter for you that I have carried about with me ever since he entrusted it to me, just in the hope and happenchance that I should get to give it you.’ He slid his hand into his tunic and brought out the much creased, flattened, and stained letter. ‘I have carried it with me through battle in case we should meet for it was my heart’s desire that we should.’ </p>
<p>Celeborn saw Thranduil’s greedy eyes upon the letter as if he wanted to grab it from Celeborn, to rip it open and devour it but he did not need to for Celeborn thrust it into his hands. ‘I do not think there is anything we need do just yet. Take some time. There under the oak tree is a log that I find it is quiet and I am uninterrupted. Go. Read it.’ He smiled kindly. ‘Join me when you are ready. I will greet your men and see that they are looked after.’ </p>
<p>Thranduil looked at him but could not speak and Celeborn turned away quickly for he could not bear to see the tears in the man’s eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>0o0o</p>
<p>Thranduil tore open the seal and read with avid eyes. </p>
<p>It was Legolas’ spidery scrawl and Thranduil smiled through tears for he had despaired of his youngest child’s carelessness after Laersul’s perfection, chided him for the scruffiness of his dispatches which Legolas had ignored with cheerful laughter and told Thranduil instead that he was glad to see him too. </p>
<p>‘Dearest Ada (and Galion),’ Legolas had written.<br/>‘I write this in the hope that it may be delivered if I do not see you before then. I hope I do see you. I miss you all very much.’</p>
<p>There was a blot where he had rested his hand and Thranduil imagined Legolas sitting under the mallorn trees of Lothlorien and looking up at the stars, trying to write. He wondered what chance had brought them to Lorién for surely Mithrandir would have taken the route through the Gap of Rohan? Or crossed Caradhras if needs must? He supposed that might well take them past Lorién and it would be foolish not to take advantage of such sanctuary for a while.</p>
<p>‘A lot has happened. As you know (I hope my last letter got to you from Imladris) I am travelling with four hobbits. There are two Men as well, and a Dwarf. The Dwarf is called Gimli and is the son of one the THOSE dwarves, but we are getting along quite well. I can’t say a lot as you know. But I am all right, Ada. Don’t worry. I never thought I would have a chance to write, and I do not know if this will even reach you.</p>
<p>‘Mithrandir is…</p>
<p>Blotches again like Legolas had paused for a very long time and the ink was smudged. He wondered what Legolas had been about to write about Mithrandir but thought he might find out more from Celeborn. Celeborn had said that Galadriel knew he had had victory too.</p>
<p>When he read the next words, his heart was very full and he wished more than anything in the world, that he could gather his youngest up in his arms and press a kiss to the top of his head and tell him it was all right. For Legolas had written:</p>
<p>‘It feels very dark right now, and I am a little afraid.  I love you all very much. Ada, if anything happens, please don’t despair. I will find Anglach and we will wait for you. Please do the same for me if…</p>
<p>Another smudge as if he could not write the next words, and then, </p>
<p>‘If Sauron wins, we will meet again if it is true about the Halls of Waiting. <br/>Please tell Laersul and Thalos that I love them and I know that you all love me. It is what will sustain me in the dark times ahead. I love you too, Galion.</p>
<p>Your loving son,<br/>Legolas’</p>
<p>He knew there were tears on his cheeks, but he turned his face up to the sky and sent a prayer to Elbereth who loved the Woodelves. He wished he knew if Legolas lived; Sauron had fallen but that did not mean there were not many deaths, there would have been slaughter on both sides. He bowed his head.</p>
<p>There was a rustle behind him, and he ignored it at first. Then as the intruder did not leave, he sighed and held out the letter. ‘Read it, Galion. I know you are as desperate for news as I.’</p>
<p>‘Is it from Legolas?’ Galion cried greedily. He settled down on the log comfortably snug against Thranduil. ‘We miss the boy too, do we not?’ muttered Galion reading avidly. ‘Two men, four hobbits and a Dwarf! What was Elrond thinking. Oh, Elbereth’s tits!’ He looked up appalled, ‘Thran, d’you see this? He was with that son of one of THOSE Dwarves. Those pesky Erebor ones that caused so much trouble.’ He tutted and looked back down to the letter. ‘What was he going to say about Mithrandir?’ He frowned and then looked up. ‘Oh, it might be when he fought the Balrog and fell into Khazad-dûm.’ He looked back down.</p>
<p>Thranduil gaped. ‘What?’</p>
<p>‘Mithrandir. Fought a Balrog apparently and was pulled into Khazad-dûm. They thought he was dead in Lothlorien and there was much mourning only for the old bugger to turn up again and then ride out in white. Honestly. How impractical.’ Galion’s eyes ran along the letter once again as if what he had just said were a shopping list or the patrol rotation.</p>
<p>‘Wait, Galion! You seem to have gathered a lot of news very quickly.’</p>
<p>‘Well, if you had actually TALKED to those Marchwardens instead of riding at the front like they smelled bad, you would have found out more.’ He turned back to the letter and said without looking up, ‘Let me finish this and then I will tell you what I know.’</p>
<p>And Thranduil had to wait for Galion would not, he knew, be gainsaid. </p>
<p>Then Galion fell very quiet and very still. Thranduil saw a tear slide off his nose and knew that he was reading the bit about Anglach, and how Legolas loved them all. Galion sniffed and wiped his nose. ‘He’s a good boy,’ said Galion at last and looked at Thranduil. ‘I pray, Eru, I pray that he lives.’</p>
<p>He leaned against Thranduil and the King felt comforted by the warmth and for a moment, it did not seem as important that Mithrandir had fought a Balrog as it did that, they both missed their boys.</p>
<p>‘I suppose there will be messages soon from Gondor,’ Thranduil said at last. ‘If the Man, Aragorn lives, he will presumably claim the throne of Gondor. Let us hope that Legolas has the sense to include letters to tell us how he is.’ He stood up and looked down on Galion. ‘In the meantime, I am going to find out EXACTLY what happened with this Balrog.’</p>
<p>0o0</p>
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